Anonymous
by kymbersmith90
Summary: Emma Swan thinks she works for a secret branch of the CIA, protecting and serving her country. Until the death of someone close turns her whole world upside down. This story is loosely based on the TV show Alias. Walsh will play a large part of Emma's story until chapter 5. *WARNING will contain scenes of death and torture*
1. Prologue

**It felt odd not marking the occasion of the last episode without an update, but I'm still not feeling great - I didn't want to post anything I've not had a chance to read through without the fuzziness that's currently present. So, I'm uploading this instead. It's been written for a while now, but just sat in my files doing nothing. I figured it was time it saw the light of day.**

 **I'll try and update it every other weekend for you guys.**

 **Please be aware that this story is loosely based on the TV show Alias and will contain scenes of death and torture. Feel free to close this window now if they're hard limits for you.**

* * *

The only sounds that could be heard in the room were the coughing noises coming from her mouth, in a desperate attempt to draw precious air into her lungs.

He gave her a few minutes to calm down before he tried again. "Who sent you?"

"Bite me."

With a careless wave of his hand her face was forced back into the rusty tub in front of her, and under the cool water inside of it. After a few moments of listening to her struggle to pull herself free, _to breathe_ , he had her brought back up to face him again.

"One more time…. Who sent you?"

"Go to hell," was her only response, as she coughed up the water that had made its way into her lungs.

He took one look at the young woman shivering in front of him before he signaled to his guards to let her go. With a rough shove, she was pushed to the floor at his feet. He took his time, rising slowly from the seat he had been watching the entire ordeal from and then over to the far side of the room to fetch a plush red towel from one of the cupboards there. When he returned, he dropped down to squat at her side and handed it over. He gave her some time to wipe her face clean and calm her breathing before he took his seat once more.

"I just want to know who sent you. Then this will all be over." His voice was pleasantly sweet, but his tone wasn't fooling her at all. She knew that this would never be over, no matter what she told him.

So she kept her mouth shut.

After ten minutes of strained silence, he signaled for his guards once more. They hurried back over to grab ahold of her roughly, leaving marks she knew would bruise. But instead of pushing her down into the tub again, as she had expected, this time they lifted her small frame from the floor and dropped her into the only other piece of furniture in the room.

A large metal dental chair.

She thrashed around as best she could while the guards set to work strapping her in place until she was completely immobile. Her eyes widened in fear as a prop was forced into her mouth, and her lips were spread obscenely wide.

"Last chance," he leered, waving a pair of pliers in front of her face. "Who. Sent. You?"

Her only response was to tighten her grip on the armrests of the chair, as she screwed her eyes shut.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 1

**A brief note at the start of this one – Emma will begin this story in another relationship. Those of you know who the show will know why, and what's coming. If that's not something you're interested in reading, feel free to skip to the page break.**

* * *

 **12 Weeks Earlier**

"I think that's the last one," Emma sighed, as she sat the large box down in the living room.

"It should be," Walsh huffed, dropping his own box down next to hers. "I feel like I've just moved enough stuff to fill three homes. When did I buy all of this crap?"

Emma chuckled as she allowed him to pull her into his arms, sliding her own around his neck to pull him in a little closer. "I did warn you about that. I mean, I have plates. We could have donated yours and that would have saved you a box."

Walsh sighed as he looked around the familiar apartment that he would now be calling home. There were so many boxes that making the short walk from the kitchen to the living room was going to prove difficult. And he knew there were even more in the bedroom, waiting to be unpacked. He probably should have listened to his girlfriend, and donated half of his stuff while he was boxing it up. But at the time, it had seemed like it would just add more to the never-ending list of things he needed to do before the move.

"I'll sort through everything as we unpack. Maybe we could do a Goodwill run tomorrow morning?"

"You're so romantic," Emma teased, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. Before Walsh could tighten his arms around her waist, the shrill ring of her cell phone interrupted their moment.

"Seriously?" he whined. "You're supposed to be on vacation. Anyone would think a bank can't run without you."

"That's because it can't," she shot back at him with a wink, as she excused herself to take the call. "Swan speaking."

"Good afternoon, Miss. Swan. Mr. Gold is requesting your presence."

"It's my vacation time, Phillip. Can't someone else do it?" she asked, already pulling a dress from her closet. Emma knew that nobody else would be able to do it. Phillip wouldn't be calling if they could.

But she liked to keep up the pretense of protesting.

That way, maybe one day she'd actually get the time off she requested.

"Sorry, Emma. He's explicitly requesting you for this one. And he's not in a good mood."

She sighed as she sat her phone down on the bed to pull off her shirt and slip the dress straight over her head. "Tell him I'll be there in twenty minutes." She hung up before Phillip could reply.

"Let me guess? You have to work?" Walsh asked bitterly, when she'd finally left the bedroom. He was riffling through boxes in the kitchen, already sorting his stuff into piles to keep and piles to donate. But he could tell from the click of her heels on the wooden floors that Emma had changed into more work appropriate clothing, while she'd been gone.

"I'm sorry, Babe. I promise I'll make it up to you." She made her way over to his side to drop a kiss to his head, hoping that he would show some sign of forgiving her. But Walsh didn't look up from his task. "I'll call when I know what's going on," she promised, before weaving her way through the piles of boxes, and out of the front door.

* * *

"Afternoon Tiny," Emma greeted, as she slipped into the familiar looking elevator at the back of the building. It was one that had been designated for staff use only, but Emma knew that more than half of the people who worked at the bank had never stepped foot onto it before.

"Emma," he greeted, offering her a small smile. "Wasn't today the big move?"

"Yeah," she sighed. That one word conveying everything that needed to be said at that moment.

When the doors slid open once more, Tiny offered her a small smile of solidarity, before she began her walk down the long familiar hallway, to the lone door at the very end of it. Emma scanned her ID badge first, before crouching down a little to allow the retinal scan to get a clearer image of her eye. When the small light on the device turned green, she pressed her thumb to the last of the sensors on the door, counting down in her mind from three. Once she got to zero a loud buzz echoed through the corridor, signaling that she'd passed all of the regular security checks, just as the door swung open to allow her entrance.

Emma made her way down another empty corridor, keeping her gaze fully focused ahead of her before she finally turned the corner to face the familiar looking open-planned office that was home to her desk.

"What are you doing here?" August asked, as Emma dropped her bag onto her chair, and slid her jacket from her shoulders. "I thought today was the big move?"

"It was," she sighed. "I mean… it is. We just got all of the boxes into the apartment when Phillip called. You haven't been summoned?"

"Not yet."

Emma shot a quick look up to the empty glass office, raised just above the bullpen before she brought her gaze back down to meet August's.

It was the exact moment the phone on his desk began to ring, the display showing an internal call was coming through.

"Looks like I'm about to be," he chuckled, answering the call with a simple, "Booth." There was a moment where Emma could just make out a voice on the other end of the line, above the general chat in the room, before August replied with a simple, "We're on our way up now," and ended the call.

The two of them said nothing as they made their way up to the large conference room, located next to the glass office just above them. They weren't at all surprised to see Gold already sat at the head of the table, with Isaac a few seats away from him.

"Hey Emma," he greeted enthusiastically. "I thought you were on vacation this week."

"So did I," she sighed, as she slid into her usual seat, while August took the one next to her.

"Sorry to interrupt your love life, Miss. Swan. But this is a matter of national security." Gold didn't look amused, but he never really did.

Whenever Emma protested about being called in on a day off, Gold would pull the national security card, knowing she always crumbled underneath it. She had known that a job with the CIA would infringe upon her personal time the moment she had signed up. But Emma had hoped to get at least one week of vacation time every year.

Ten years in, that still hadn't happened.

There was always some kind of situation that required her presence. She often joked with Walsh and their friends that her employer couldn't cope without her. But Emma was starting to believe there might be more truth in that statement than she had initially thought there to be.

"What's happened?" August asked, in an attempt to diffuse the tension building in the room.

"The Russian Embassy is hosting a banquet this evening," Gold began. "The guest list has been released, containing the name of one Alexei Mikhailov."

Alexei Mikhailov had been on the CIA's radar for a while now. Emma and August had tracked him all over the globe, following the string of illegal activity that had turned up just as he flew into a country. Their analysts had uncovered some information a while back that suggested Mikhailov was working on plans to build a chemical weapon. But no matter what they did, the guy always seemed to be one step ahead of them.

"Sources close to him have suggested that he's carrying all of his plans on his person. In the form of a flash drive that he keeps on his belt buckle."

"Of course he is," Emma sighed.

This was why she had been called in.

It wouldn't be the first time she'd been sent on a mission to seduce another man, but she always hoped it would be her last. Emma never let things progress past a kiss, but even then, she still felt like she was betraying Walsh while she did her part to keep their country safe.

"All we need you to do is get him alone and make a copy. In and out with minimal risk. You'll be back in bed with your boyfriend before midnight, Miss. Swan."

Emma fixed a smile on her face as Gold passed the two of them a large file, containing everything they needed to know about the covers that had already been arranged for them, and the mission they were expected to complete.

"Isaac has some things for you to help with your mission. Your car will be ready to leave at eight." Gold left before anyone else in the room could say anything in protest.

Not that they ever would.

"Okay, Isaac," Emma smiled, turning her attention his way. "Tell me you have something good for me this week."

"I think you'll like this." Isaac's eyes sparkled with his excitement as he opened a small case on the chair beside him, and pulled out the tech that he'd been developing for just such an occasion.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**


	3. Chapter 2

"Looking beautiful there Swan," August teased, as he helped Emma into the car that was waiting for the two of them.

"I really hope this mission is as easy as Gold made it sound," Emma grumbled, fiddling in her bag for the fresh ear pieces Isaac had given to her. She handed one over to her partner as she explained, "Because there is absolutely no way I can run in this dress."

One of the best parts of Emma's job was the wonderful wardrobe that she had built up as a result of it. She was often sent all over the globe, to a variety of different functions that usually required a certain dress code in order to blend in.

For the banquet at the Embassy, Emma had chosen an elegant satin and lace evening gown, in a beautiful ivory color. She had loved the way the lace had been embroidered with flowers that started rather small around the straps and bust of the gown, before growing in size as they continued down to the hemline. The only downside was that the satin the gown had been made from meant it was rather limiting in range, and wouldn't allow her to make a quick exit should anything go wrong.

While the dresses were a huge perk of the job, the wigs certainly were not. A lot of the people she was forced to mingle with would appear at the same events, no matter where in the world she was sent. And while Emma couldn't change her face, she could change everything else about her appearance to make sure those people wouldn't recognize her.

The intelligence they had received suggested that nobody on the guest list for the event would have come into contact with Emma before, but she wasn't taking any chances. She had opted for a brunette wig that evening with full bangs, to cover some of her face. Emma had been aiming for a look that wouldn't make her stand out too much, but would still draw the attention of their target.

She only hoped that she'd managed to achieve it.

"So, what's your plan for tonight?" August asked, as he watched her settled herself into the seat a little more comfortably.

"I'm gonna make you out to be one of the most insufferable bosses on the planet and hope he takes pity on me. If he does, I'll start flirting."

"And if he doesn't?" August worried. Although he wasn't sure why he was. There were very few people who didn't fall for one of Emma's routines. And those who didn't usually fell for one of his.

"If he doesn't then I'll have to get a little more creative. A large drink _accidentally_ spilled in the wrong place should do the trick. But it wouldn't give us a long timeframe to work with."

August nodded his understanding. He'd be ready for either scenario, depending upon Emma's instincts while they were in the field. Although he was a little older than she was, Emma's experience definitely gave her an advantage over most of the assets his own age. It was why he loved being partnered with her. Even under pressure, she always managed to keep a level head. Which meant that more often than not, their missions were a complete success.

"Then I shall make sure I'm the most insufferable boss on the planet for you this evening."

Emma chuckled as their car began slowing down. A sure sign they were approaching the embassy.

"Just remember that whatever you make me do tonight, I'll make you suffer for at a later date."

"Two. I said _two_ ice cubes…. You know, I'm starting to think you do this on purpose because there is absolutely no way one human being can be as _stupid_ as you are. Now… take it back and try again. Single malt, double shot, _two_ ice cubes. And mark my words, Miss. Welch, if it's wrong next time there will be hell to pay."

"Yes Mr. Colbert," Emma agreed, doing her best to fight back the tears that she had brought to her eyes during her 'employer's' speech.

August had been careful enough to keep his voice pitched so that it would only carry to the people closest to him. He knew that if his little stunt had drawn the attention of everyone in the room, it would make their job that much harder. Scenes like that tended to stick in people's minds. And the last thing he wanted was for his partner's perceived humiliation to be a lasting memory for the rest of the guests.

But he'd also needed his little charade to carry just far enough to reach the ears of the illustrious Alexei Mikhailov.

When he saw the Russian crime lord turn to follow Emma to the bar, he knew his main task for the evening had been accomplished.

"Can I get you a drink?"

Emma turned at the heavily accented voice to her left, raising a hand to cover her heart to sell her surprise. She'd seen him approaching in the reflection of the glass bottles behind the bar, but he'd been too distracted by watching her ass to notice that.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's me," she countered. "I was in a world of my own. I'm so sorry."

"I don't blame you. I heard the way your boss spoke to you back there. Disgusting treatment of a beautiful woman." He reached out to brush away one of the tears that she had let fall, his action surprisingly tender for a man with such a brutal reputation.

Emma blushed a little under the compliment and lowered her eyes to look up at Mikhailov from underneath her lashes. "You're far too kind."

"I speak only the truth." The Russian paused as he allowed Emma to turn her attention back to the bartender to place her boss's order once more, before he eventually asked, "May I ask the name of the most beautiful woman in the room?"

"Jessica. My name's Jessica. And yours?"

"Alexei," he replied, holding out his hand for hers. The moment Emma slipped her palm into his own, he raised her hand to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles.

"I um… I should get this to Mr. Colbert before he fires me," she lied, indicating the drink that had just been placed onto the bar behind her.

"Of course. Maybe when you've delivered his drink you could meet me somewhere more private to talk a little?"

Emma gave herself a mental high-five while she offered Mikhailov an uncertain smile. She couldn't have asked for a better first encounter than the one he was currently giving her.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. My boss is pretty demanding."

"Don't worry about your boss," Mikhailov dismissed easily. "I'll make sure he's kept busy."

"Okay," she finally agreed, chewing slightly on her lower lip. "Where should I meet you?"

Emma delivered the drink to August with a slightly lingering touch to his wrist, their signal that she had managed to achieve her goal with Mikhailov. She waited just long enough for the Russians around him to engage her 'boss' in conversation before she slipped out of the ballroom and headed for the winding staircase at the back of the building.

As she climbed the steps up to the second floor, Emma turned the large red cocktail ring on her left hand around, so the jewel was facing inwards. She quickly pried off the protective cover that had been placed over the top of it, before carefully spinning the ring back to its original position. Isaac had sworn it would give her twenty minutes, and that would be more than enough time for Emma to clone the flash drive _and_ stage her scene.

Mikhailov had told her he would be waiting for her on the second floor, through the door that was third on the left. Emma was a little surprised by the lack of security in the area, but she imagined that Mikhailov had probably paid off a few people because he thought he'd be having sex that evening.

"Alexei?" she called out, pushing open the door that was third on the left.

"I'm in here."

The room he'd picked for their rendezvous was everything Emma had imagined it would be. The plush creams and golds showed that whoever stayed in the suite was someone used to luxury and the finer things in life. There were state of the art gadgets all over the place, from the intercom system to the flat screen television on the wall. And in the middle of it all stood the Russian crime lord, holding two flutes of champagne.

"Here," he told her, offering one out for Emma to take. "You look like you could use it after the night you've had."

Emma smiled politely as she took the glass he was offering and made a show out of taking her first sip. Her years of training had taught her never to accept a drink she hadn't seen poured herself, so she kept her lips tightly closed, allowing the bubbles of the drink to wash against them before she pulled the glass away.

"Wow. That might be the nicest champagne I've ever tasted," she gushed.

"A beautiful woman like you deserves the finest things in life."

Emma sat the glass down on the side before she sauntered her way over to where he was standing, pulling the clip from her hair to shake the brown tresses around her shoulders. "My boss is going to notice I'm gone soon," she purred, running her hands up the lapels of his jacket, making sure to linger over the curves of his muscles. "How about we skip the flattery and you show me the bedroom in this place?"

Mikhailov's smile grew as his eyes darkened. "I do love a woman who knows what she wants." He slipped his hand into hers to pull her in the direction of the bedroom, and Emma stumbled along after him, giggling a little for added effect.

The moment she saw the bed behind him she wriggled her hand free of his to give his chest a firm shove, pushing the Russian back onto the bed behind them. Mikhailov landed with a bounce, already reaching for Emma as she kicked off her heels and hitched up her dress to straddle his lap.

He was so distracted by the sight of her bare thighs that he missed the way Emma had twisted around her ring once more. As she brought her head down to meet his she made sure to press the red jewel to the bare flesh of his neck, and Mikhailov was out before his lips could make contact with hers.

"Finally," Emma sighed, as she hauled herself off him, and reached for her discarded clutch bag. Her cell phone had been modified for work years ago, so after a quick sweep of the rooms to make sure there were no bugs in place, she clicked on the app that opened up the communication channel between herself and August. "He's out," she declared simply. "I'm going for the flash drive now."

August said nothing on his end, but Emma had expected that. To maintain his cover, he would be busy trying to schmooze every rich man (and their wife) in the building.

Emma's fingers made quick work of unbuckling Mikhailov's belt, examining the fastening carefully until she found the small flash drive that had been slotted into it. "I've got the drive," she relayed to her partner, as she pulled out the cloning device that Isaac had designed to look like a compact mirror.

She sat the small drive on top of the reflective surface and waited. For the longest moment, nothing happened. Then suddenly the compact flashed bright green once, a signal that the cloning had been successfully completed, and Emma released the sigh she had been holding in. Isaac had never failed her before, but Emma lived in fear of what would happen the one time his technology didn't work as planned.

"Done."

When Mikhailov finally came around it was to the sight of a trashed bedroom, covered in empty bottles of champagne, and Emma stood at the end of the bed wearing nothing but a pair of pale, pink, satin panties and a matching bra.

"I have to get back to work," she apologized. "My boss's gonna kill me for being gone this long. But thanks for that." She gave him a cheeky wink as she let the satin and lace of her dress slip over her head and fall down around her body, before picking up her shoes and bag from the floor.

Mikhailov couldn't remember anything about the night past his third scotch not long after his arrival. But he was naked in bed, slightly sticky in certain areas, and feeling pleasantly buzzed, with the taste of champagne still lingering in his mouth.

 **Emma's look here is based on Jen's look for the 58th Annual Primetime Emmy Award Ceremony on August 27th 2006.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	4. Chapter 3

**I'm sorry. I know this one probably isn't what you guys want, but it's setting up how Emma and Killian eventually meet.**

* * *

"So, how are things going with Walsh?" Ursula asked, as she placed two coffees down onto the table her friend was sat at, before taking her own seat.

"They're going well. It took us a while to find our feet together, but now it kinda feels like we've always been living together. I don't really remember what it was like before he was there." Emma smiled shyly at her drink, knowing that if she met her friend's eyes, she'd see the playful teasing behind Ursula's gaze.

"And how's he handling the whole work situation?"

Emma sighed as she took a long pull from her coffee, before sitting it back down onto the table. Her work schedule had always been a point of contention between herself and her friends. They thought she worked too hard and were very vocal about that opinion. She knew that if they were made aware of why she put in the hours that she did, they'd understand. But working for a Black Ops division of the CIA meant that Emma's friends could _never_ know what she truly did for a living.

"We argued the first few days over it. I got called in the night he was moving in, and he wouldn't speak to me when I got home," she explained, hating the memory of that first night. Emma had never felt so uncomfortable in her own bed before. "But Walsh knew how demanding my work schedule was before he agreed to move in with me. So he really can't complain."

" _You_ should be complaining," Ursula threw back at her. "No normal human being works as much as you do, Emma. Surely the bank can cope without you for a few days."

Emma raised her eyes to give her friend a withering look. She'd heard their complaints before. And while she appreciated their thoughts for her wellbeing, she couldn't deny that after three years of listening to them, she really wished they'd just drop it already.

"I worked damned hard to get to this position at the bank, Ursula. There's a reason they call me in as often as they do. It's because nobody else there can do what I do. Some of our international clients will refuse to deal with anyone else. Clients that earn us billions of dollars a year. I can't just turn my back on all of that."

"I'm not saying you have to, Ems. I'm just saying that if you get a call when you're supposed to be on vacation, you tell them to call back when you're home. I know Walsh would appreciate being able to plan a night out with the woman he loves, without worrying you're gonna ditch him twenty minutes in just to run back to work."

"I'll try," Emma offered.

She'd said the same thing the last three times her friend had confronted her about the issue. And she'd continue to say the same thing, knowing that the chances of her wishes actually being respected by Gold were incredibly slim.

"Now, enough talk about work," Ursula declared. "Let's talk about your weekend plans."

* * *

Walsh had been attempting to plan the perfect romantic getaway for the two of them for months now. Every weekend he'd picked he'd either been scheduled for work, or Emma had been asked to travel to do business with one of the bank's international clients.

August had finally assured him that Emma would be free for the upcoming weekend, so Walsh had gone ahead and booked them both a room in Vermont. He had special plans for the mini-vacation they would be taking, and he wanted as few distractions as he could possibly get.

When Emma arrived home from work Friday evening, she was surprised to see two large suitcases sat by the front door.

"Are you moving out already?" she called to him, as she slipped off her heels and hung up her jacket. "I know I have some annoying habits, but I didn't think I was _that_ bad."

"Of course I'm not," Walsh teased gently. "I've booked us a weekend away. I wanted it to be a nice surprise for you."

"So you packed for me?" Emma arched a brow up at her boyfriend as she asked, "Is there actual clothing in there, or just lingerie?"

"A little of both," he shrugged unapologetically. "Why don't you go change into something more comfortable? Our flight leaves at eight."

"Flight? Wow. You really have thought of everything." She leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek as she slipped past him to head through to the bedroom. "Did you remember to pack my Kindle?" she called over her shoulder.

Walsh stood frozen for a moment as his mind raced through his busy afternoon of preparations, before he finally declared, "Shit. No."

* * *

As their flights landed late that evening, his plan for their first night in Vermont was a simple candlelit dinner at one of the best restaurants in town. It was easy, as far as planning a date was concerned. But Emma seemed much lighter that evening, away from the demands and pressures of her job.

For their Saturday, he wanted the day to be absolutely perfect for the two of them. This wasn't just their first weekend away together since he'd moved into her home, it was also their first weekend away together as a couple.

After a lazy start to their morning, Walsh collected the picnic basket he had arranged to have packed when he booked their room, and the two of them set off for Waterfront Park. He knew that they both enjoyed spending time outside and that their busy life in Virginia often didn't allow them time to enjoy the beauty in their natural surroundings. So Walsh wanted to use their weekend away to right that wrong.

"This is beautiful," Emma praised, as he guided her over to their own small section of the park. It wasn't overly crowded, but the beautiful weather had definitely encouraged more people to step out and enjoy the day.

"And quiet," Walsh chuckled. "No busy ER or banking duties to call us away today."

Emma smiled sweetly as she watched him hunt through the small wicker basket he'd brought out with them until he emerged victorious with two small bottles of wine, and a couple of plastic cups for them to drink it out of.

"Wanna drink to that?"

"Most definitely," she agreed, taking one of the cups to allow her boyfriend to fill it for her.

Instead of digging straight into their meal, the two of them took some time just to catch up on everything that had happened recently in their lives. Walsh's job as a trauma surgeon for the local hospital often meant that he worked long hours, and when combined with Emma's own demanding schedule, the two often went a few days without speaking more than a handful of words to each other. It wasn't an ideal situation, but it was something they had learned to adapt to, over the years.

When their tummies finally started to rumble, they devoured the contents of the picnic basket. Emma couldn't help but sing the praises of the chefs at their hotel, as they made their way through the mini-feast that had been provided for them.

It was the perfect meal, eaten at the perfect location, during a perfect weekend.

Which was exactly what Walsh had been hoping for.

"Emma," he began softly, as the sun started to set over the mountains in the distance. "I know our life is nowhere near close to being the textbook definition of perfection. But I'd like to think that during all of the madness, we've managed to make something perfect between the two of us."

Emma dropped the last strawberry to her plate to turn and face her boyfriend, at his sweet little speech.

"And if you'll allow me to do so, I'd like to continue making something perfect with you," he told her, as he pulled a small, black, velvet box from the pocket of his slacks.

"Oh my God," she gasped quietly, as understanding suddenly dawned over her.

This wasn't just a romantic getaway.

This was a proposal.

"Emma Swan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, as visions of the last few years flashed behind her eyes. All the different missions she'd been sent on and every near-death experience she'd been subjected to since the two of them had met. Her life was full of lies and uncertainty, but as she looked at the handsome man sat opposite her, his face so full of hope and promise for their future, Emma knew what her answer needed to be.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I'll marry you."

She waited just long enough for Walsh to slide the beautiful, yet modest-sized diamond ring onto her finger before she leaned forward to offer him a kiss to seal her promise.

"I love you, Emma."

"I love you too," she chuckled back, deliriously happy for the very first time in her adult life.

* * *

"Yes?"

Emma cast a look over her shoulder at the bed where her fiancé was sleeping, as she pulled the sliding door to their room balcony closed. She wanted to give her full attention to the call she had placed.

"Hi, Dad. It's me."

"Emma?" he asked after a moment, his tone softening as he did. "How are you?"

"I'm um… I'm good." She dropped down into one of the soft seats outside, as she pulled her robe around her a little tighter. Conversations with her father were always difficult. Which was why she had considered not calling. But other than Ursula, there was nobody else in her life that she wanted to share her news with more than the stoic man on the other end of the line. "I uh, I have some good news," she began softly. "I got engaged this evening."

There was silence over the line for the longest of seconds. If it had been anyone else, Emma would have thought the line had gone dead. But knowing her father, she had been expecting his response.

"The doctor?" he finally asked.

"His name's Walsh, Dad."

Emma sighed when her father seemed to ignore her admonishment, and instead asked, "Are you happy?"

"Of course I am. I wouldn't have said yes if I wasn't. That's kind of why I called you. I wanted to share this moment with you. I want to share my happiness with you. We're um… we'll probably be having a party when we get back to Virginia. I was hoping you'd be there to celebrate with us."

There was silence over the line once more, before Emma's father finally snapped back, "I don't like him. He's not good enough for you."

"You've never met him before, Dad," Emma protested, speaking loudly to be heard over the sound of his voice.

"Which is why I've never met him before. Good luck with your marriage, Emma."

The line went dead before she could even think of anything else to reply with.

Emma knew that her relationship with her father was difficult. They rarely saw each other, and when they did, their time together was always limited and awkward. But she had at least expected some kind of congratulations from the only family she had.

She hadn't expected him to flat out insult her relationship.

"Emma?" Walsh called out softly, drawing her back out of her thoughts and to the present. "Is everything okay?" he asked cautiously, his glance flicking between the hurt on her face, and the phone still clenched tightly in her fist.

Emma could practically hear his thoughts screaming at her. Walsh was worried she'd been called back to work.

"It's fine," she assured him. "I'm coming back to bed now. I just needed some fresh air."

She didn't want to ruin their wonderful day any further with talk about her father. That could wait for another time.

"Okay, Baby." Walsh moved forward to press a kiss to her forehead as he tangled his fingers with her own. Emma let him gently guide her back into their room, and the warmth and comfort of his loving embrace.

* * *

 **If you've ever seen Alias, you'll know why I chose Ursula for Emma's friend here. If you haven't - check out Merrin Dungey's filmography.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	5. Chapter 4

**This one is Walsh heavy again, I'm afraid. But you'll be pleased to know the next update is the last one we will see him in.**

* * *

"What are you doing?" Emma giggled, when she woke Monday morning to find soft hair brushing against her thighs.

"I was just thinking," Walsh replied softly, as he leaned in to press a kiss above her navel. "One day, there's gonna be a baby in here."

Emma stiffened slightly under his touch, but Walsh either chose to ignore it or didn't notice it, as he used his nose to trace the lines of muscle in her abdomen.

"You want kids?" she asked emotionlessly.

They'd broached the topic of starting their own family about a year into their relationship. Emma knew that she could never have children of her own, given the job she held. So she had wanted to make sure that they were both on the same page before things went too far.

But apparently, now that they were engaged, Walsh had changed his mind.

"Now that I'm a resident, yeah," he chuckled. "I mean, who doesn't want kids?"

"I don't," she whispered into the silence of the room.

Walsh froze for a moment at her words before he pulled back to get a good look at his fiancée's face. "You don't want kids now, or you don't want them ever?"

"Ever."

"Huh." He pulled back with a start, sitting up on his shins as he scrubbed a harsh hand over his face. Emma watched as a wide range of emotions flashed behind his eyes, while he opened and closed his mouth as he tried to work out what to say. "Were you ever gonna tell me this?" he eventually asked.

"I told you when you first asked me about having a family that children were off the table for me."

"Back then," he protested furiously. "You said they were off the table for you _back then_."

"No. I said they were off the table for me _period_ ," she countered. Emma's training had helped to enhance her memory capabilities. She could recall that conversation as clearly as if it had happened the day before, and she had been firm when she'd told her boyfriend that she never wanted children of her own.

Walsh slid off the bed to begin pacing in front of the window, and Emma's heart sank a little. She had thought he'd understood that children were not an option for her, back when he'd first asked. And now she was starting to believe that they could be a make-or-break deal for their entire relationship.

"Why?" he asked, as he sank down onto the end of the bed. "You're so good with August's kids. I know it's not a medical thing. So why, Emma? Why wouldn't you want a little you or me running around here in the future?"

"My job," she began carefully, before he cut her off with, "I'm so sick of your fucking job, Emma. You work in a bank. It's not a life or death situation. Quit your fucking job."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what I really did," she snapped back, regretting the words the instant they left her mouth.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Have you been lying to me about your job?"

Emma's head dropped as she tried to work out how best to fix the mess she'd found herself in that morning. She hadn't wanted to hurt Walsh. And she certainly didn't want to lie to him. She wasn't one of those girls who told their partner they wanted to have kids and then continued taking the pill behind his back. She'd already lied to him enough in the time they'd come to know each other.

And Emma was sick of lying to the people she loved.

"I don't work for a bank," she whispered softly into the room. "I work for a black ops division of the CIA."

Walsh snorted out a laugh as he stood to pace once more.

"I was recruited in college," she continued, before he could say anything else. "A man approached me one day at a small café and told me that I'd been chosen to help protect my country. At the time, I was alone and flattered by his belief in me. So I made that call. They offered to continue paying for my tuition while I took the training, and I couldn't say no to that. I didn't want to."

She raised her eyes to meet his, hoping that Walsh would see the truth behind the words she was about to speak. "I hated lying to you. I _hate_ lying to everyone. But my job… I protect and serve this country _every single day_. That's not something I can easily walk away from. And it's not an environment I can risk bringing a child into. My job is dangerous, Walsh. I can't do that."

"When were you planning to tell me all of this?" he asked. "Or were you even planning to tell me at all?"

"It's a requirement for my job," she defended. "They ask us not to tell anyone what we really do. For your safety, as well as my own."

"That's bullshit," he snapped back. "I'm your boyfriend. I'm going to be your husband someday. Don't you think I deserve to know that one day my wife might leave the house and never come home?"

"That's why I'm telling you this now. _Before_ we get married."

"Bullshit," he yelled again. "You're telling me this now because you slipped up and admitted you'd been lying. If I hadn't caught that, you'd have let me believe you work for a bank until the day some guy in a suit showed up on our doorstep to tell me you were dead."

Emma opened her mouth to argue a little more, but the sound of her cell phone ringing from the bedside table cut through the tense silence in the room, drawing their attention to it.

"Swan," she answered, already knowing who was calling and why.

"It's me," August replied. "Isaac managed to decode those plans. We know where the device is being held. Pack a bag and come straight in."

"Okay. I'll be right there," she told him, as she flicked a look over to Walsh. But he was too busy shaking his head as he stared out of the window to notice.

"Let me guess, you have to work," he declared, when she ended the call.

"Yeah," Emma sighed. "But we can talk more about this when I get back, okay?"

"Whatever," Walsh scoffed, before storming out of the room to lock himself in the bathroom.

* * *

"What am I looking at?" Emma asked, as the screen in front of her flicked to display some kind of woodland area.

"Lukunsky Grove," Gold explained, as he pressed another button to show a small building in the middle of the grove. "And in particular, Mikhailov's hidden laboratory. The intelligence you recovered from the Russian Embassy suggests that the weapon is currently being built and tested here, by a team of elite scientists."

Gold tossed a file at each of the people gathered in the room, containing everything that had been recovered from the flash drive.

"Intelligence also suggests that it will be undergoing its final public testing phase on Wednesday before it's due to be sold at auction to the highest bidder. As you can imagine, we cannot allow this device to be sold to a terrorist organization. So, Agent Booth, you'll be going in to witness the testing with the intention to purchase the device once you've seen its performance. We also cannot be seen funding a terrorist organization, so Agent Swan, once Agent Booth has confirmed the device is working, you will go in and steal it before it can be sold. Are there any questions?"

"How am I getting in?" Emma asked, as she flicked through the dossier.

"The ducts," Isaac explained to her. "We can't risk Mikhailov seeing you and recognizing you. But the ducts run right above the lab where the device is being made. So you should be able to get in and out without being seen."

He paused for a moment to search through the steel case he'd brought into the briefing room with him before he pulled out what looked to be a regular pen.

"This," he explained, as he pressed down on the top of it to eject the nib, "will help you deal with any security cameras."

The monitors around them all flickered briefly, and it took Emma a moment of staring at them to realize that the feed was now looped.

"Impressive," she praised.

"Thanks. This should help to minimize your chance of being exposed," he replied proudly, as he handed the device over. "The battery is pretty small, though. So it'll only give you ten minutes of usage on a full charge. You'll need to be quick."

Emma nodded her understanding as she slipped the pen into the breast pocket of her jacket.

"When you have the device, I want you to rig the building with explosives," Gold continued, drawing everyone's attention back to the head of the table. "We can't allow that kind of technology to be replicated."

"Understood," August assured him.

"Excellent. Your flight leaves in an hour," Gold declared, before gathering up his own files to leave the room.

* * *

Emma and August were half-way across the world when Gold received the call.

"Yes?" he answered, keeping most of his focus on the report he was reading on his computer.

"Sir. We have a situation."

"What kind of situation?" he demanded, finally pulling his eyes away from his screen to offer the caller his full attention.

"The security team have identified a breach. How should we proceed?"

"Send me over everything you have," Gold instructed, already scrolling through to his email account to await the message. "And then take care of it."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	6. Chapter 5

"Looking good, Swan," August teased, as he watched Emma pull her hair back into a neat and tidy bun, before she pulled a simple grey cap down over her face, with the logo of the security firm stitched onto the front of it.

"Hey, you can joke all you want, but I'd much rather be wearing _this_ than I would a wig and high heels. How's that working out for ya?"

August chuckled at the knowing look on his friend's face, as he scratched at his chin. While Mikhailov's focus had mainly been on Emma the last time they had met, neither of them were willing to take the risk that he wouldn't recognize August. So this time, her partner was the one wearing the makeup and wig. Emma had helped to transform him from the dark-haired man he was before, to a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, bearded, middle-aged Swedish man.

She doubted even his wife would recognize him at that moment.

"Okay. I think we're all ready to go," she announced, as she slipped her small earpiece in, and double checked her pockets for the plastic explosives and pen that Isaac had given to her. "You remember the code word to let me know the device works?"

"Bravo," August declared, adopting the thick Swedish accent he would be using as part of his cover, for the rest of the day.

"I'll see you on the other side," Emma offered, before making her way out to the van that they had hired for the weekend. With the help of an asset close to the city, it had been covered in the same decals as the security firm used. Isaac had also managed to hack their systems to add the registration number to their inventory, along with Emma's alias for the day, and her work order. There should be no issues getting her onto the compound, but that didn't stop the burst of adrenaline that filled her body, as she started the engine.

It also hadn't helped that Walsh had been dodging her calls too.

Ever since their plane had touched down in Russia, she'd tried calling just to let him know that she'd landed safely, as she always did when she was on a mission. Walsh might not have always known exactly where his girlfriend was going, but he'd always appreciated the fact that she checked in with him when she arrived and left. That way, he wouldn't spend his long shifts in the hospital worrying about her safety.

But this time, he'd either turned his phone off or had set her calls to divert, as they were sent straight to voicemail. Emma had gotten fed up of repeating some variation of the same message into his answer machine that morning.

As she pulled up to the tall gates surrounding the compound, she reluctantly pushed all thoughts of Walsh from her mind and allowed herself to sink fully into the alias she had been given of Elena Petrov.

"I'm here to service your air conditioning unit," she explained simply. The Russian language rolled from her tongue as easily as English always had. The agency had taught her many languages over the years, and Emma had always been able to pick them up quicker than any of her co-workers. It was one of the things Gold praised the most about her. He swore it was a sign that she'd been built for life as a covert operative, and Emma had started to believe that he might just be right.

The Russian guard on the gate asked for her badge and work order, which she happily provided before he disappeared with both to check his systems. This was always the part of the mission that had Emma's heart hammering the hardest. She'd come to trust her team over the years of working with them, but she knew that as intelligent as the CIA's methods were, the criminals they were pursuing were developing their own intelligent technology to thwart their methods at every turn. So when the guy finally returned with instructions of where to park her van, and how to get into the building, she breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief.

There were a number of top of the range cars already parked around the compound, some of which had license plates that Emma recognized from files on the CIA's most wanted list. She also spotted the car that August had rented for the occasion, parked just off to one side, as he always did. It was a habit he'd adopted early into their partnership when they'd needed to make one too many quick getaways from their locations.

After parking around the back of the building, and away from the prying eyes of the elite that would soon be descending upon the compound, Emma was let into the building by one of Mikhailov's men. He showed her down to the basement where the air conditioning units were located, and she quickly set to work making sure that she at least looked like she was doing the job she claimed to be there to do. It didn't take long for her escort to excuse himself, asking if she would be able to find her own way out when she was finished.

Which finally left Emma alone.

She carried on fussing with the large units for a moment longer, just to be certain that she wouldn't be interrupted, before she shucked the heavy coat she was wearing, and starting moving.

It took her a few attempts to pull out one of the large steel tables in the room just far enough for her to climb up onto it, and pop the grate off the duct directly above her head. She'd memorized the plans for the building on the flight over, so with careful movements, she began shuffling her way through the small space, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

* * *

By the time she finally arrived at the grate that she knew would be positioned right above the laboratory, Emma was a hot and sweaty mess. She took a moment to wipe her face down with the bottom of her shirt, before pulling the grate open. It took her another handful of seconds to find the pen that Isaac had given to her, and wrestle it out of her pocket in the tight space. But when she finally had it in hand, she positioned herself just perfectly before pressing down on the top of it, as she swung herself out of the ducts and dropped down into the lab.

The sight that greeted her was not what she was expecting at all. To the untrained eye, it looked every inch the fully-functioning, top of the range laboratory. But the plans that were littered around the tables were off. Even with her limited understanding of technology, she knew that they wouldn't match the ones that Isaac had pulled from Mikhailov's drive.

And then it clicked for her.

"August," she whispered. "Cough if you can hear me."

There was a moment of absolute silence on the line before a manly cough sounded over it. Emma found her shoulders relaxing a little with her relief. Whenever something went wrong, and she'd been separated from her partner, she couldn't help but wonder if that would be the moment they finally met their end.

"This isn't right," she told him. "This place _looks_ the part, but these plans are all wrong. This is some kind of setup, I'm certain of it. I just don't know who it's for. You need to get out of there as soon as you can."

The line remained silent once more before another cough sounded over it, and Emma knew that was August's way of agreeing to her plan, without needing to say the words.

"I'm headed back to the basement now. Let me know if you have any problems getting out of here."

She didn't wait for August to say anything else. Instead, she grabbed a handful of files off the table in front of her and quickly stuffed them into the waistband of her pants. A quick run at the side of the wall gave her all of the leverage she needed to pull herself back up and into the ducts before the battery on the pen device would run out.

The journey back down to the basement was as hot and sweaty as it had been before. But Emma had just managed to place the grate back into its original position, and grab for the kit she'd brought in for her cover, when the door swung open once more, to reveal Mikhailov's lackey.

"Are you done?" he snapped at her.

"Yes," she replied. "You're all set for the next year."

His stance seemed to soften a little at her reply, as she grabbed for her jacket and followed him out of the room. He escorted her all of the way around to the employee entrance she'd been let in through before he closed the door firmly behind her.

It was as Emma was climbing up into the van that she saw August make his own way over to the car he'd hired for the occasion. She gave him a few moments to make his own exit from the compound, just to be sure that he wouldn't run into any trouble before she followed him out at a safe distance. With every mile that she put between herself and the Russian crime lord, Emma found herself relaxing that little bit more.

While the mission had technically been a failure, she always considered the ones that she and August walked away from without any trouble to be a success.

By the time their plane touched back down on US soil, both August and Emma were exhausted. They knew that what had happened in Russia would lead to long debriefs the following day, and even more work investigating Mikhailov and his true intentions with the arranged viewing. But for that evening, all either of them could think about was getting back home to the people they loved.

"See you tomorrow, Ems," August told her, pressing a kiss to her hair as he squeezed her gently.

"You too, old man," she chuckled. "Give Ruby and the kids a kiss from me."

"I will do," he called out, as he slipped into his own car and pulled out of the private airfield.

Emma watched him leave before she made her way over to her own vehicle. It was only when she was sat behind the wheel of her truck that she finally started to feel like she was home. The vehicle was old and dated, but everything about it felt comfortable and familiar to her, in a way that none of the newer cars she had test-driven ever did. For someone who traveled as much as she did, that feeling of comfort was something precious that she wasn't willing to lose unless absolutely necessary.

It didn't take her long to navigate the streets of Virginia, and before she knew it, Emma was pulling into the private parking garage for her small building. She swung the truck into the space beside Walsh's more familiar coupé and then killed the engine.

At least he hadn't moved out while she'd been gone!

Emma sat for a moment just savoring the silence in the car before she released a small sigh. She really hoped that there wouldn't be a fight waiting for her when she walked through the door. She just wanted to take a hot bath and let her fiancé hold her while she slept.

"Walsh?" she called out, as she pushed the front door open and flicked on the lights in the apartment.

But the moment she did she froze completely, the blood in her veins turning to ice.

The place was a complete mess.

Furniture had been thrown all over the lounge and kitchen, some of it broken and some of it simply discarded without care. The bookcase had been pulled over, with its contents smashed and torn across the floor. All of the drawers appeared to be hanging from their hinges, torn from their places by someone either in a hurry, or incredibly angry.

Or both.

"Walsh?" she asked a little more carefully, as she dropped to a crouch in front of one of the grates built into the wall. She pulled the iron covering away with practiced ease and removed the small handgun that she had placed inside of it when she'd first bought the apartment, all of those years ago. A quick check told her it was still fully loaded, and Emma flicked off the safety as she raised her weapon, making her way carefully through the carnage in the main room, to head down the hallway.

The first door she pushed open was for the bathroom, which had also been ransacked. But it was in much better condition than the living room had been left in.

The spare bedroom was much the same, with the drawers pulled from the dresser, and the wooden piece itself lying haphazardly against the bed in there.

She took a moment to check inside the small closet at the end of the hall, before making her way over to the last door in the home, for the master bedroom. The room was completely dark inside, so Emma reached out a slightly trembling hand to flick on the light, and assess the damage that had been done.

But what she saw had her dropping her gun in shock, as her hand came up to cover her mouth and stifle the sobs that were fighting their way up her throat.

"Walsh," she whispered into the room, before she rushed towards the bed and the man that was lying awkwardly across it.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	7. Chapter 6

"Walsh!"

Emma tugged on his shoulder to roll him over but fell back against the wall in horror when she got a good look at the man she loved.

"Oh God," she sobbed, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, in an attempt to stifle her cries.

His lifeless eyes were staring up at the ceiling, and his skin was already a bluish-purple in color.

She was too late.

Walsh was already dead, and had been for some time.

"Oh, God."

During her years spent as a CIA agent, Emma had seen many dead bodies. Some had been at her own hand, and some she'd found in far worse shape than her fiancé's body was that evening. But Emma had _never_ had to face the body of someone she loved before, and no amount of training in the world could ever have prepared her for that.

She buried her head between her legs as she tried desperately to block out the images burned behind her eyes. Memories of the last conversation they'd had, and the way they'd yelled at each other before she'd rushed out of the front door, played on a loop, slowly driving her mad with guilt.

 _What if he'd died not knowing how much she loved him?_

Emma wasn't sure how long she sat on the floor that evening. Every time she tried to move a bolt of nausea flooded her system, making her knees feel weak as it sent her mind spinning, and she'd be forced to drop back down against the wall.

Eventually, her training kicked in, and she found herself drying her eyes as she reached for her phone to call nine-one-one. She couldn't clean this up and act like it had never happened. Walsh's family deserved to know the truth about their son, which meant reporting it to the authorities.

But as she waited for the police to make their way out to her apartment, Emma stood up to get a closer look at her love's body. She hadn't noticed the wound pattern when she'd first rolled him over. She'd been far too distracted by the emptiness that she'd seen behind his gaze. But with each pass her eyes made over his body, a deadly calm began to settle throughout her being.

There were three circular wounds in his chest that had bled out all over their bed, along with one through the center of his forehead.

It was a wound pattern that she knew well.

And one that she'd seen many times before, out in the field.

As the realization began to wash over her, Emma's eyes flicked over to the clock still blinking away on the bedside table. Without a second thought, she reached for her gun, where it had dropped to the bedroom floor, and tucked it into the waistband of her pants, before carefully picking her way around the carnage spread throughout the room. When she made it through to the lounge she grabbed her keys from the small bowl beside the front door, and headed down to her truck, leaving the apartment unlocked for the officers that were on their way.

She knew that it would look bad not being in the apartment when they arrived. But she also knew that she needed to act fast if she had any hopes of avenging the man she loved.

* * *

"What. Did. You. Do?" Emma snapped, as she slammed her palms down onto the desk in front of her.

She could see the others below the office staring up at them. She'd been quite a sight storming through the bullpen, covered in the blood of the man she loved, with her eyes fixed firmly on the person sat calmly in the glass office above them all.

Nobody had been brave enough to stop her and ask what had happened.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Agent Swan."

"Don't play dumb with me, Gold. I saw the marks. The Snowman? He's one of ours. What did you do?"

Gold capped the pen that he'd been using to sign his reports and inclined his head to the chair that Emma was stood beside. When she didn't budge his face hardened, showing just how dangerous the man could be. But he didn't speak until she finally dropped down into that seat.

"I think, Agent Swan, the question you should be asking is what did _you_ do?"

"What do you mean? I loved Walsh. I would never do _anything_ to hurt him."

"Oh, really?" Gold turned to his computer for a moment and tapped away at a few keys until the sound of static filled the air around them.

" _I don't work for a bank,"_ she heard herself whisper softly _. "I work for a black ops division of the CIA."_

Walsh's snorted laugh had Emma biting back another sob. She couldn't quite believe that she was never going to hear that sound again.

" _I was recruited in college. A man approached me one day at a small café and told me that I'd been chosen to help protect my country. At the time, I was alone and flattered by his belief in me. So I made that call. They offered to continue paying for my tuition while I took the training, and I couldn't say no to that. I didn't want to."_

" _I hated lying to you. I_ _hate_ _lying to everyone. But my job… I protect and serve this country_ _every single day_ _. That's not something I can easily walk away from. And it's not an environment I can risk bringing a child into. My job is dangerous, Walsh. I can't do that."_

The recording cut off there, but Emma had heard enough.

"You _bugged_ my apartment?"

"You're a member of an elite division of the best espionage agency in the world," Gold explained. "We track all of our operatives in any way we deem necessary to protect their safety."

"Protect their safety?" Emma scoffed. "How does killing the man I love protect my safety?"

"You exposed yourself, Agent Swan. And in doing so, you exposed every man and woman working for this agency. _You_ became a liability, and I handled it the only way I could."

"You… he… he wasn't a liability," she yelled. "He was my boyfriend. I loved him. And you… you killed him."

"No, Agent Swan. _You_ killed him when you confessed everything to him. There are reasons that we make our operatives swear to secrecy when they join this agency. An oath that you took and agreed to uphold. You're lucky that I was able to spare your life for breaking such a serious rule."

"How do you sleep at night?" she spat back. Because there was no way she was buying the shit he was spewing. She knew that if he'd been able to save her life, he could also have found a way to save Walsh's too, if he'd wanted to. Gold had far more control and power over operations in the division than he liked to let on.

But Walsh wasn't important to him. He never had been. Which was why it had been so easy for him to make that call.

"I sleep well knowing that I do whatever it takes to protect every single person who works for me."

There was absolutely no remorse inside of the guy, and Emma felt sick sitting so close to the man who had been responsible for the death of her fiancé.

 _How had she never seen this side to him before?_

"I quit," she declared, rising from the chair she'd been perched on the edge of, to glower down at the man still sitting calmly behind his desk. "I refuse to work for someone like you anymore."

"And I don't accept your resignation."

"Excuse me?" she whirled back around to face Gold as rage and fury filled the air around them both. His quiet calm was only making her angrier.

"You're in a highly emotional state right now, Agent Swan. You need time to calm down before you can make any kind of decision. Time to think through the consequences of your actions." When she raised a brow at him to argue, Gold added, "If you had a clear mind right now you'd remember that you signed a service contract for this agency. A service contract that you've not yet met."

He turned his attention back to his computer for a moment while Emma stood staring down at him dumbfounded. How could he act so cavalier after being confronted with the horror of what he'd done? Taking the life of a terrorist or a brutal murderer was one thing, but taking the life of an innocent – Emma would never have been able to live with herself knowing she'd done that.

"Luckily for you, I have just the thing to help. Security are on their way up here now. You'll be held for questioning until you've calmed down, and we can be sure that you've not compromised this agency, and every person working for it, any further."

"You're having me locked up?"

"No. I'm having you held until you're emotionally stable enough to take a polygraph to prove your innocence, Agent Swan. It's the only way I can save your life right now. Because the moment I submit this report to our superiors, they'll be asking why you didn't meet the same fate as your boyfriend. This is a gift I'm giving to you, Emma. But make no mistakes, my loyalty is to my agency and my country. If you have comprised this organization any further, I won't hesitate to give the order to have you executed. Do you understand me?"

The hiss of the doors behind her told Emma that the security team was already there to escort her down to the basement. Which meant that she would have no choice but to go with them calmly if she wanted to make it out of the building alive.

"Yes, Sir," she replied emotionlessly, before turning on her heels to exit the office, with two large guys following close behind her.

As Emma made her way through the bullpen she avoided the gaze of everyone else staring in her direction. She knew that they would recognize the agents behind her as being security, which meant that they would know she'd been involved in something bad.

But she was in no mood for their judgmental stares right then.

* * *

Emma wasn't really sure how long the security team held her after she had confronted Gold. The hours seemed to all blur together in the small, windowless room, as she waited for them to deem her emotionally stable enough to face the polygraph.

When she was finally released it was dark outside, and her phone, which had been taken from her, along with her gun, had long since died. She knew that she couldn't face going back to her home after everything that had happened there. She'd never be able to look at their master bedroom without seeing her fiancé's lifeless body stretched across their bed.

So Emma did the only thing she could think to do, and made the drive to the one other place in town where she knew that she would be welcomed.

Ursula had the door to her house open before Emma had killed the engine, and was pulling her friend out of the truck and into her arms the moment she had her seat belt off.

"Where the hell have you been?" she whispered harshly, as she ran a soft hand through her friend's hair. "I've been calling for days. I was worried sick."

"I'm sorry," Emma mumbled into her shoulder. "I just… I just drove. I didn't know what else to do."

"Oh, Ems," Ursula soothed, as her friend broke down once more, releasing all of the pain she'd been holding inside. Emma crumpled down to the stone driveway beneath her feet, to sob loudly into her best friend's shoulder.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	8. Chapter 7

Emma heaved a heavy sigh of relief as she dropped the last of her boxes onto the kitchen counter.

"We did it," August declared, sagging heavily against the wall while Ursula closed the front door to her friend's new home behind them. "I'd say that's a good enough reason to open that bottle of champagne I put in your refrigerator a few hours ago."

"You brought refreshments?" Ursula was looking at Emma's former partner like she did Bradley Cooper, and he chuckled a little at it.

"Of course. This is not my first rodeo." August made his way around the boxes scattered throughout the rooms to grab the bottle from Emma's brand new fridge and then snagged a set of solo cups he'd stashed inside one of her cupboards. It wasn't classy, but it was definitely necessary.

"Marry me?" Ursula asked, as she pulled herself up onto a stool at the breakfast bar, and gratefully accepted the cup that he was holding out to her.

"I think my wife would take issue with that. But I'll keep your offer in mind, just in case Ruby decides I'm unworthy of her love." The two friends laughed at their banter before turning to look for Emma, who had been noticeably quiet during the entire exchange.

"Ems. You okay?"

"Yeah. I uh… it just feels weird being here right now. But I'm sure that feeling will pass soon enough." She held out her hand to take the red cup that August was offering to her, but the small smile she'd been forcing herself to wear all day fell flat when the diamond in her engagement ring caught the light.

She couldn't bring herself to take it off just yet.

"Well… I'm gonna go and make a start on unpacking your clothes," Ursula announced, as she slipped off her stool and topped up her cup. "I know how much you hate organizing your closet."

"Thank you." Emma pressed a kiss to her friend's cheek as she passed, before pulling herself up into a seat of her own.

August waited until he could no longer hear the other woman's footsteps on the hallway's wooden floor, before he asked, "Have you thought about coming back to work?"

"Nope."

Emma hadn't stepped foot inside of the building since the security team had released her the night she'd reported Walsh's murder. And she didn't plan to do so anytime soon. Gold had tried calling. He'd even left her messages. At first, he'd told her to take as much time as she wanted, and to call if she needed anything. But eventually his messages had grown more demanding as he'd ranted about contractual obligations, and the consequences of terminating her contract.

Emma had simply deleted them all and then changed her number.

"I get that you're upset, Ems. And I know this has been hard for you. But if you don't come back to work soon, Gold's going to take action. And you know what that means. _Come back._ Finish your service contract and then leave. Travel the world or get another college degree. Do whatever you want. But _come back_."

"I'm sorry, August. I love you, but I won't _ever_ work for that man again," she snarled at him.

Like most of her former colleagues, August didn't know what had happened to Walsh. He believed the public lie being sold by the press and Emma herself - that her fiancé had been killed in a robbery gone wrong. But he knew that something had transpired between Emma and their boss on that very same day. And whatever that something was had his friend refusing to return to work, and his boss becoming ever more desperate to get her back.

"Emma, _please_ ," he begged. The CIA wasn't an organization you just walked away from. Gold had made that clear. "Think about this. He'll come for you. You know he will."

"And I'll be waiting when he does," was all she said, as she slipped off her seat and made her way through to the lounge, to begin unpacking the boxes stacked inside of the room.

August sighed as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Emma was stubborn at the best of times, but she'd never been so reckless before. And if he were being completely honest with himself, her behavior was starting to worry him.

* * *

Emma smiled politely to the guy already in the elevator as she climbed onboard, before reaching for the button for her floor. The ride down was done in the kind of awkward silence that came from being in a small space with a stranger. But she thought nothing of it.

She'd spent most of her day shopping. Emma had hoped that being out amongst other people, as she looked for those little touches that would make her new house feel like a home, would help with the crushing weight of the guilt that had been pressing down upon her since Walsh's funeral.

But it hadn't.

And she was starting to think that _nothing_ ever would.

When the elevator juddered to a halt on the fourth floor she smiled politely once more at the guy in the carriage with her, before making her way out. It was as her heels clicked against the cold concrete of the floor that her carefully trained senses began to kick in, telling Emma that something was wrong.

The large parking garage was too quiet. There should have at least been one other person on that floor, making some kind of noise. But she couldn't even spot an attendant in the small booth by the exit.

Emma dropped her bags at the trunk of the nearest vehicle, hoping that whoever was lurking in the shadows waiting for her would think that she was at her own car. But as she fished inside of her purse for the pepper spray she always kept there, she knew she was out of time.

Large hands clamped down on her arms just before she could turn, and Emma threw her head back in retaliation. Her skull connected with her attacker's nose in a sickening crunch and the guy howled in pain as his grip on her arms loosened for just a moment.

That was all that Emma needed.

She twisted out of his grip before bringing her foot up to land a solid kick to his stomach and then finished him off with another to the side of his face. The large guy crumpled to the floor in a heap of expensive wool and designer leather shoes.

But there wasn't time to celebrate her victory.

The sound of a gun firing met her ears just before a bullet struck the trunk of the car over her left shoulder, and Emma cursed as she darted behind the vehicle.

She needed a weapon of her own if she stood any chance of making it out of that parking garage alive. And if she tried going for the unconscious body, she knew she'd be exposing herself.

She took a good look around, hoping for a way out, when a plan suddenly occurred to her. Emma dragged her purse back to where she was hiding and quickly pulled out her cellphone. After setting the timer to go off in ninety seconds, she quickly shuffled her way down three rows of cars to push the device under one of them, before quietly making her way back to her original hiding place.

The moment the timer began to sound, Emma moved fast, patting down the unconscious body until she found a spare magazine of ammunition, and a small handgun holstered inside of his jacket.

When the next shot rang out in the parking garage Emma stood, aiming her own weapon in the direction of the second suited man, who was busy killing her cellphone. Her aim was steady and sure as she squeezed the trigger, and the guy fell instantly when her shot hit him just under his right shoulder blade.

However, she wasn't naïve enough to believe that he'd stay down.

He began firing back at her as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. Emma ducked behind a white van to her left as she counted off the shots still headed her way, bouncing off the metalwork of the vehicle. She knew that it would only give her a brief window of time to work with, but that was better than the alternative.

The moment the last bullet ricocheted off the hood she moved, charging straight at the man who had been firing in her direction. He was too busy trying to reload his weapon to realize what was going on until she was practically on top of him. When she made contact, Emma sent him hurling to the ground, as his gun bounced out of his hand and skidding across the parking lot.

But his build gave him the upper hand, and even with his injury, he was soon rolling on top of her, pinning Emma to the ground. He pulled back to let his fist fly and it made contact with her left cheek, as his ring split the skin under her eye. The punch sent Emma's head recoiling against the floor of the parking garage, while blood began rushing through her ears and drowning out the sound of everything else around her.

She raised her own hands to try and find purchase on him _somewhere… anywhere…_ but before she could, his much larger ones were closing around her throat and applying firm pressure to her windpipe. Emma scratched at his hands, trying in vain to pry away his grip as the edges of her vision began to darken.

Just when she thought it was all over, one final shot rang out through the space. And suddenly, the pressure around her throat was gone.

Emma sucked in a few deep breaths as her lungs heaved a sigh of relief, before she pushed the now-dead attacker off her body, to get a good look at the person who had just saved her life.

The face staring down at her, with his gun still trained on the man he'd just shot, was not the one she had been expecting to see.

"Daddy?"

* * *

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	9. Chapter 8

" _Daddy?"_

David Nolan extended a hand in his daughter's direction but didn't take his eyes off the guy he'd shot as he said, "Let's go. There will be others."

"Go? Go where? What… what's going, Dad?"

Emma pushed herself up to her feet and brushed down her pants as she leveled her father with a glare. It was one that told him she wasn't going anywhere without some answers.

"Anywhere that isn't here," he snapped back. "I'll answer your questions later, Emma. Can we please just get out of this parking garage before the rest of their team realizes that you're not dead?"

David finally pulled his eyes away from the body on the ground to level his daughter with the kind of look she'd often seen as a child, whenever she'd tried to argue with him.

"Fine," she sighed. "Let's go."

He nodded once before dropping the arm holding his gun down to his side and then turned on his heels. Emma took a moment to frisk the guy he'd shot and grab his weapon before she followed after her father.

David's car was parked at an awkward angle not far from the entrance to the level they were on, and Emma slid into the passenger's seat without comment as he climbed in behind the wheel. David kept his gun tucked close to his thigh while he started the engine and reversed back, before heading around towards the exit.

Emma turned her head to check that nobody was following them, but was distracted by the small arsenal of assault weapons that sat on the back seat of her father's car.

"Jesus Christ. Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"I'm the same person I've always been," David shot back. "I'm your father."

" _My_ father is a software engineer for a large security firm. Not some kind of…"

"Spy?" he asked, finishing the sentence for her.

"No. No, you can't be."

"How do you think Gold knew about you to begin with?" he demanded. "He's always wanted you to join the firm. When you were a little girl you accidentally passed some kind of test he'd been designing, and he became obsessed with the idea. He wouldn't take no for an answer, so when I refused to bring you in, he sent someone else to do it for him."

"You knew? All this time you knew, and you never said anything?"

David's eyes flashed away from the road ahead of him to meet his daughter's before they drifted back once more.

"How could I? You barely wanted anything to do with me after you graduated, Emma."

"I thought that you didn't approve of my choices. I thought _you_ were the one who didn't want anything to do with me!"

"Of course I didn't approve," he hissed. "If you'd told me about Gold's offer _before_ you'd signed that damned contract I could have helped you. I could have gotten you away from him. But you always were so _bloody_ stubborn. Just like your mother."

David's last four words were uttered with a kind of softness that Emma hadn't heard from her father in years. When her mother had died he'd become somewhat cold and closed off, but the way he spoke about Mary always showed her that deep down, her father was still capable of love. Because David had never stopped loving Mary Swan.

"Most fathers would be proud of their daughters for landing jobs with the CIA," she argued.

David's snort of laughter was completely unexpected and entirely unlike him. "I was sure you'd have worked it out by now."

"Worked what out?"

His eyes flicked away from the road once more, taking in Emma's defensive posture and the fire burning in her eyes. He knew that he needed to tread carefully here, but he couldn't exactly sugarcoat the news he had either. Emma was too old and too intelligent to fall for that.

"What do you know about The Forest?"

She was confused by the sudden change of direction the conversation had taken, but Emma decided to humor him. "It's one of the world's largest organized terrorist groups. They have bases in almost every country in the world, and are an enemy of the United States."

"I work for them," David said evenly. "As do you."

"No!"

"The Misthaven Banking Group is only one of their covers. And it works perfectly as a cover for their main cells throughout the world."

"That can't be true. I… no! I work for the CIA."

"Then why have you never been to Langley?" David pressed. "You've been lied to, Emma. All lower level agents have been lied to. Think about it. It's one of the best covers in the world. They make you think you're fighting the very enemy you're actually working for."

Emma threw out a hand to steady herself as her stomach rolled.

She didn't want to believe what her father was saying. That would mean that she'd been working with people who were actively trying to destroy her country. That she'd been lied to for almost a decade by people she thought she knew and trusted.

But deep down, she knew that it made sense.

What had happened to Walsh wasn't right. Her gut had told her that. The United States government would never have allowed the execution of an innocent citizen on their soil.

David reached behind her seat to pull out a duffle bag he'd stuffed there earlier that evening, and dropped it down into his daughter's lap.

"What's this?" she asked, as she pulled it open. There was a change of clothes in her size and a range of credit cards under an alias. He'd been careful to give her the maximum amount of cash she could comfortably get out of the country, along with a passport and tickets for a one-way flight to Thailand.

David had packed her an escape bag.

"It's everything you need to survive."

Emma lifted her head to watch the scenery fly by outside of the windows, and it was then when she realized where they were headed.

"I'm not leaving."

"You have to," David told her. His tone was the same as the one he used to use whenever she refused to do her homework as a child, and it left no room for arguments. "Those men were just the start, Emma. Gold feels like he can't trust you now, and you know too much. He's not going to stop until you're dead. Take that and go. Leave the country. Start again somewhere else. It doesn't matter where, you just need to go."

Emma's mind was reeling after everything her father had said. While she knew that he was simply trying to protect her, she needed time to process everything. Time to figure out what she was going to do next. It was time she didn't have. All she knew at that moment was she wasn't getting on the flight that her father had booked for her.

"Pull over," she commanded. When her dad didn't comply she yelled her orders at him instead. "Pull. Over!"

David swerved the car onto the side of the road and put it in park before he flicked on his emergency lights. "Emma," he warned.

"No! You don't get to do that right now. You don't… you haven't been a father to me in _decades._ You don't get to start now."

With those words, she reached behind her for a few of the guns on the backseat and stuffed them into her duffle bag before she pulled open the car door.

"Goodbye, Dad," were the last words she spoke, as she closed it softly behind herself and disappeared into the early evening.

David watched her go for as long as he possibly could before he slammed both palms down onto the edge of the steering wheel and yelled the only word that came to mind in that instant.

"Fuck!"

* * *

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	10. Chapter 9

Emma wasn't sure how long she walked that evening. She wasn't even sure where she was headed. All she knew was that the last three months had completely rocked her world, and she needed time to process everything that had happened.

But it was time that she didn't have.

Gold had run out of patience.

Her father might have been a stranger to her, but he was right. Gold was going to continue sending men after her, trying to eliminate the threat she posed until her body was six feet under. He would do to her what he'd done to Walsh, only Emma knew that she wouldn't be shown as much mercy as her fiancé had been given.

And she couldn't let that happen.

She _wouldn't_ let that happen to anyone else ever again, if she could help it.

As a plan began to form in the back of her mind, Emma took a moment to take stock of where she was before hailing a cab to head to the nearest Target she could find. To make everything work she was going to need supplies, and without Isaac to turn to for help, Target was her next best option.

When she had everything she needed tucked into a couple of grocery bags, Emma headed for the nearest sleazy motel she could find and checked in under one of the aliases that her father had given to her. If David felt comfortable using them, it meant they were clean. But Emma knew they wouldn't stay that way for long, so she needed to work fast.

After applying a box of home hair coloring to her blonde locks, she used the new cellphone she'd purchased to book herself onto the next flight to Russia. It wouldn't leave for a few hours, which would give her just enough time to work on the identification documents she had. Her father's forger had been good. To the naked eye, there wasn't a difference between the passport she had in her hands or the one locked up in a safe back at her house.

But it wasn't quite good enough.

Gold had contacts in every industry all over the country. Emma knew that her picture would already be hanging in every airport in North America, which meant that she needed to do everything she could to change her physical appearance.

It started with the dye in her hair. Emma washed it out in the shower, watching as the water sluiced down over her body like a bloody river until it faded back to a clear stream. When she was out, she ran a rough towel over her new flame-red tresses before pulling out the scissors she'd also purchased. The first cut wasn't the neatest she'd ever made, but it wouldn't matter too much. She could style out the uneven edges before she left the motel.

By the time she'd finished cutting, Emma's bright red hair now rested just above her shoulders, instead of around the tops of her breasts. A pair of colored contacts that changed her eyes from a bluish-green to a dark brown were the final touches to what she hoped would be the perfect disguise.

With her appearance taken care of, Emma slipped on a pair of the jeans she'd bought and a graphic T-shirt before she made her way to a photo booth she'd seen on her shopping trip, to take a few new headshots. Replacing images on passports was always risky. Some of the check-in and security staff were far more observant than their colleagues, but at least Gold had given her plenty of practice at doing so in the past. A craft knife, a carefully positioned plastic sleeve, a hot iron, and a towel could go a long way in the forgery business.

* * *

When Emma strode into LAX a few hours later it was with all of the confidence and swagger that came from her new persona.

"Next, please?" the clerk called out.

She took a few steps forward until she was stood behind the desk and greeted the other woman with a cheery, "Hey," as Emma pulled out all of her documents and slid them over the counter for inspection.

"Hi. How many bags will you be checking today?" the clerk asked politely.

Emma pointed to the oversized tote hanging from her shoulder and said, "just this one." She gave the woman a moment to tap something into the keyboard in front of her before she pushed herself up onto her toes to peer down at the other woman's hands. "I _love_ that color. Where did you get them done?"

It took a moment for the clerk on the other side of the desk to realize what she was being asked, but when she did, she raised her left hand to flatten it on top of the counter, proudly showing off her manicure. "I um… I actually did it myself."

"No way! That looks so professional. What brands do you use? Are you fully trained?" Emma lifted the other woman's hand into her own to get a better look at the bright red polish covering each of her fingernails.

"No, I don't have the time to take those courses. And it's an O.P.I one. I swear by them. They're the best on the market."

"I always thought they were a little pricey." Emma pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head so that the attendant could check her passport image against her face, before she added, "but if it looks this good on you, I think I'm gonna need to give them a chance. How many coats did you use?"

"Two, but you need a good base and top coat to go with it." The clerk turned her attention back to her computer for a moment before she closed Emma's passport and pushed all of her documentation back across the desk. "Have a nice flight, Miss. Ward."

"Thank you. You enjoy your day," Emma called back, as she turned to head for the gate her plane was leaving from.

It was amazing what a little flattery could achieve when you were trying to sneak out of the country.

* * *

The flight to Russia was the worst Emma had ever been on. Because she'd booked so late, she was left with the only available seat on the plane, squished between someone who smelled like they hadn't showered all week and another passenger who not only snored but also drooled in her sleep. It didn't matter much, though. Emma knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep with everything racing through her mind, so she used the twelve hours it took to get to Khimki to research everything that she would need for when the plane finally landed.

Emma wasn't planning to stay in the country long. She knew what would happen to her if she got caught. Death would be an easier escape than what the Russians would likely do when they found out who she was. But she also knew that she wouldn't be able to return to Los Angeles without something to keep Gold off her back.

Something to show him that she could be trusted once more.

Something that only Alexi Mikhailov would be able to provide her with.

* * *

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	11. Chapter 10

As soon as Emma stepped off the plane she knew that she needed to act fast. Alexei Mikhailov had always been one step ahead of them, and she didn't have the time to chase him all over the globe without being caught. If she wanted to earn Gold's trust, she needed to be back on US soil before the week was over.

Emma changed in the airport bathroom, binning the bright and colorful clothes she'd used for travel in favor of a pair of dark pants and a black sweater. The sun was already beginning to set in Khimki, and she still needed to find a way to central Moscow before it rose the following morning.

When she left the airport, Emma made sure to take a walk through the carpark outside. In her past experience, while they were normally pretty secure facilities for long haul travelers, there was always one area of an airport carpark that wasn't as well cared for as the others. A tiny corner that was tucked away and out of range of the security cameras, or one that was too far from the security desk to warrant regular checks. Emma found one of those in the furthest corner of the facility. There were no security cameras in range of that spot and the ground around the cars parked there had been undisturbed after the rain that had fallen earlier the day.

It was surprisingly easy for her to break into one of the vehicles, and even quicker for her to hotwire the car to get it moving. The men working the gate didn't even bat an eye as she waved at them on her way out of the structure before turning onto the highway to head for the nearest hardware store.

Emma was going to need some tech if she stood any chance of getting out of Mikhailov's building alive.

* * *

As she waited for darkness to blanket Moscow, Emma busied herself with preparing everything she'd need for her mission and escape. She stashed what was left of her cash and her passport in a locker at a random train station in the city, before burying the key somewhere only she would be able to find if she made it out alive.

The crossbow she'd purchased from a local hunting shop didn't take much effort to modify. After reinforcing the strength of the bolt to make sure that it would be able to support her weight, Emma tied a length of cable to the end of it before adding everything to a rucksack she'd purchased.

The last item she had been working on was a laser cutter. It had cost almost all of the remaining cash she had left, but Emma knew it would be worth the investment. There was no way she'd be able to get into Mikhailov's building through the front door, which meant she was going in through one of the windows. And she needed to get through them as silently as she possibly could if she didn't want to be caught.

After checking and triple checking everything, Emma left her motel room and climbed back into her stolen car before setting off for Moscow city center, to wait for the perfect time to strike.

* * *

The first door gave way easily under the force of her kick, swinging from its hinges as Emma made her way inside and headed straight for the staircase. She took the steps two at a time, climbing the eighteen floors to the roof access point faster than most humans would. But she didn't pause there. Another strong kick saw that door swinging on its hinges too as she powered out into the night.

The jump over to the building next to Mikhailov's was easy enough, and Emma made it with distance to spare. But her research had already told her that the space between that building and Mikhailov's would be suicidal to leap. So after pocketing her laser cutter and shaking the crossbow free from her bag, she squinted into the darkness and took aim.

The air conditioning units on Mikhailov's building looked sturdy enough. Their metal frames appeared to be cemented to the rooftop, and Emma sent up a quick prayer asking for them to hold her weight long enough to make the jump, as she squeezed the trigger.

The bolt sailed effortlessly across the space, embedding itself in the back of the nearest unit with a dull clunk.

Emma pulled the rest of the cabling free from the bow and ditched the weapon before she gave an experimental tug. The bolt seemed to hold its position, but she wasn't naïve enough to believe that it would last. After tying the cable around her waist she wrapped a length of it around her wrist before offering up one last prayer for her safety. And then Emma took a running leap off the side of the building.

The impact of her shoulder on the window wasn't as soft as she'd have liked, but she was pretty sure that nothing had been broken. Without wasting any time she fished inside her pocket for the laser cutter and pulled it out. With a click, the red beam flashed to life and immediately started burning a hole through the glass. It took her longer than she'd have liked to finish cutting her way through it. With every move she made, Emma could hear the metal of the air conditioning unit groan under her weight, and every time it did, she slipped that little further down the building.

When she finally kicked her way into the room it wasn't a moment too soon. Emma had just finished untying the cable around her waist when it fell slack in her hands, and the bolt sailed down past the window to smash on the ground below.

She took a moment just to appreciate that she had made inside alive before turning her attention to the room she was stood inside. It looked like a generic office, which meant she was nowhere near where she needed to be. But without access to blueprints of the space, Emma wasn't sure if she should be heading up or down.

So she took a chance and decided to head down.

She knew she'd made the right choice when the number of security cameras in the space doubled as she hit the basement level of the building, and the faint sounds of chatter met her ears. Emma kept her back pressed to the wall as she moved, edging her way around the path of the cameras until she came to the end of the corridor. She carefully reached back into her pocket and pulled out a small mirror that she always carried with her, then angled the reflective lens to see what was waiting for her on the other side of the wall.

Three armed guards were stood in the middle of the space, laughing and joking about a night out they'd shared earlier that week.

Emma pulled the mirror back and stuffed it away, making sure to keep her body pressed tightly to the wall as she listened for footsteps headed in her direction. When they finally came she waited until the last possible moment to make her move before reaching out to yank the guard around the wall and away from his colleagues.

Her right arm came up to wrap around his neck, applying gentle pressure that would soon render him unconscious, while her left hand clamped down over his mouth to stop him from calling out for help. When his body fell lax in her arms she waited a moment longer, just to be certain that he wasn't faking her out, and then gently eased his body down to the floor. A quick frisk turned up an access card and a handgun, so Emma slipped the card into her pocket and the weapon into her waistband before quietly creeping her way further down the hall.

The door to Mikhailov's laboratory opened with a beep that sounded far too loud in the silence of the night. Emma slipped inside the room and closed the door behind her as quickly and quietly as she could, and then turned her attention to the room at large.

The Russian terrorist had been busy!

Emma knew a chemical weapon when she saw one, and there were at least a dozen in different stages of development inside the lab.

She ignored the different prototypes in favor of one of the computer terminals. There was no way she'd be able to get the actual pieces back to the States, but she could certainly download the plans for them all.

The flash drive she had concealed in the sole of her shoe was one she'd used before. Isaac had designed it to hack the best of security systems and Emma trusted his designs like no other. But it wasn't as quick to break through Mikhailov's encryption as she'd have liked. She knew that every second longer she waited was a second closer she came to being discovered.

So when the encryption finally broke and she found herself in the heart of Mikhailov's network, Emma felt like she could weep with the relief rushing through her system. She started the transfer of files to her flash drive and tapped her fingers impatiently on the desktop as she waited for the upload to complete.

The moment it did, Emma yanked the drive from the computer and tucked it back into the sole of her shoe before she turned to head for the door.

Now she just needed to get outof the building without being shot and killed.

As soon as she had the door to the laboratory open, Emma knew something was wrong. The building was too still and too silent. She had been certain that the man she'd taken down would have been found by then, and the place should have been crawling with armed guards.

Emma flattened her back to the wall and began to make her way down the hallway, straining her ears to catch even the quietest of noises as she did. But there was nothing to be heard.

As she turned the corridor at the end of the space, she finally understood why.

The butt of a shotgun collided with her face and the young American spy crumpled to the floor as blood began pouring from her nose.

"Take her," was the last thing she heard, before darkness claimed her sight.

* * *

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	12. Chapter 11

**WARNING - THIS CHAPTER DOES ENTAIL EMMA'S TORTURE SCENE! WE'VE MADE IT BACK TO THE PROLOGUE!**

* * *

Emma's body jerked in its bonds as a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over her, startling her back to consciousness. She shook her head to remove the strands of hair that were obscuring her vision before looking up into the familiar face that was now only a few feet away from hers.

"You're awake," he sneered. "I was a little worried that my men might have hit you too hard." Mikhailov's hand came up to touch the bruised skin on her face and Emma forced herself not to flinch when he made contact. Her lack of reaction must have angered him however, as he pulled his hand back to deliver a ringing slap to her left cheek before signaling to one of his men for a chair.

"Now, here's how this is going to go," he told her, straddling the back of his seat to make himself more comfortable. "I'm gonna ask you some questions and you're going to answer them truthfully. Every time you lie to me or refuse to answer one, I'm going to hurt you. And I'm going to take great pleasure in doing so. Do you understand me?"

"Go to hell," Emma snapped at him. If he thought she was an amateur, he was sorely mistaken.

The backhand she got for that left her ears ringing.

"See, isn't this fun?" Mikhailov taunted. "Now… who are you?"

Emma held his gaze defiantly as she said nothing. Mikhailov waited until she had gotten to the count of thirty-three before he reached out to tangle his fingers in her hair and jerked her head back painfully.

"Who are you?" he repeated, his voice taking on a slightly harder edge as his Russian accent deepened.

"Your long-lost sister," Emma mocked.

Mikhailov let her go with a shove which sent her chair crashing to the floor, jarring Emma's shoulder further with the impact. She bit down on her lower lip to stop the cry of pain from leaving her as he stomped over to the men in the corner of the room and began whispering harshly with them in Russian. After a moment his men nodded their understanding before one left the room and the others began advancing on her position.

Emma was quickly cut free from the chair she'd been tied to, but before she could move, more rope was wound around her wrists and ankles to keep her from lashing out.

"I know you're American," Mikhailov told her, as he carefully removed his jacket and began rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. "I just want to know who sent you."

"Your mother," Emma taunted, and one of the guards delivered a swift kick to her ribs for it.

It took her a moment to catch her breath after the attack, and when she looked back up again she found Mikhailov crouched in front of her, with a large metal tub of water between them.

"This could be easier for you," he told her. "I don't want to hurt you. If you tell me who you work for, this will all be over painlessly."

Emma snorted out a laugh of her own at that one. She knew what his idea of 'over painlessly' would be. An execution – her execution.

Mikhailov waited a moment longer before he nodded to the guard stood over her. Emma barely had time to register what was happening before her face was forced into the tub of water in front of her and held there.

She kept her body as still as she could for as long as she could, knowing that struggling would only waste the precious little oxygen she had left in her lungs. But the guy holding her down was clearly waiting for her to put on a show, as it was only when her instincts to panic started kicking in, forcing Emma's body to thrash around in its bonds, that he finally pulled her back up by her hair.

Emma gulped in as much air as she could, knowing that she was likely going under again sometime soon.

"Who sent you?" Mikhailov asked, sounding almost bored with what was happening in front of him. Emma supposed he might be. Torture was probably a daily occurrence for a man like him.

"Bite me," she threw back. The words had barely finished falling from her lips before she was pushed forward again.

Mikhailov had the process repeated over and over again, watching as the fight in her body weakened every time she was pulled back up for air. But Emma remained stubbornly tight-lipped in the face of his questions.

"One more time…. Who sent you?" he asked, his patience wearing thin.

"Go to hell," was her only response, as she coughed up the water that had made its way into her lungs.

Mikhailov took one look at the young woman shivering in front of him before he signaled to his guards to let her go. With a rough shove, Emma was pushed to the floor at his feet. He took his time, rising slowly from the seat he had been watching the entire ordeal from and then over to the far side of the room to fetch a plush red towel from one of the cupboards there. When he returned, he dropped down to squat at her side and handed it over. Mikhailov gave her some time to wipe her face clean and calm her breathing before he took his seat once more.

"I just want to know who sent you. Then this will all be over." His voice was pleasantly sweet, but his tone wasn't fooling her at all. Emma knew that this would never be over, no matter what she told him.

So she kept her mouth shut.

After ten minutes of strained silence, he signaled for his guards once more. They hurried back over to grab ahold of her roughly, leaving marks Emma knew would bruise. But instead of pushing her down into the tub again, as she had expected, this time they lifted her small frame from the floor and dropped her into the only other piece of furniture in the room.

A large metal dental chair.

Emma thrashed around as best she could while the guards set to work strapping her in place until she was completely immobile. Her arms were bound to the chair around her wrists and just above her elbows. The same straps had been wrapped around her ankles, calves, and thighs. One large belt was buckled across her waist, and a matching one stretched just above her chest. The final strap was pulled painfully tight across her forehead, leaving Emma with barely any room to wiggle. But it was only when a prop was forced into her mouth and her lips were spread obscenely wide that she truly felt fear for the first time that morning.

"Last chance," Mikhailov leered, waving a pair of pliers in front of her face. "Who. Sent. You?"

Emma's only response was to tighten her grip on the armrests of the chair as she screwed her eyes shut.

* * *

"You know, I have to give you some credit for this," Mikhailov taunted, as Emma's exhausted body was forced back onto the rigid metal chair that he'd been sat in before. She was struggling to remain conscious, and there was a steady stream of blood trickling down from the left side of her mouth, where he'd already removed two of her back teeth. "I don't think I've ever seen someone withstand _that_ much pain without breaking before. But you have to know this isn't going to save you. I will kill you," he told her, moving a little closer so that he could weave his fingers through the hair at the back of her head. He gave a sharp tug on the strands there, forcing her head up so that her eyes would meet his. "Why make this more painful than it needs to be?"

Emma's head was swimming with the pain radiating through it, and she was struggling to focus her attention on Mikhailov's face. But through it all, her training was still guiding her instincts, telling her exactly what to do and when. She might barely be conscious in that moment, but she knew she had the upper hand. Mikhailov's team had underestimated just how much strength was left in her body, so they hadn't bothered binding her to her seat.

She opened her mouth and whispered a few words in reply to the question she'd been asked, before letting her eyes roll inside her head.

Mikhailov let go of the grip he had on her hair to land another solid slap around her face, and Emma's eyes sprung open as it sent waves of pain radiating through her body again.

"What did you say?" he asked calmly.

Emma repeated the same words she'd said before, but even with him standing as close as he was, Mikhailov couldn't hear her.

He took another step closer before dropping down into a crouch to bring his head in line with hers. "What did you say?" he snapped, his patience with his captive almost completely gone.

Emma leaned forward until her mouth was beside his ear before she repeated her words one final time.

"One day, I'm going to kill you."

She bit down harshly on the fleshy part of his ear before he could react, pulling hard until the sound of flesh tearing met her ears. Mikhailov roared in agony, jerking away from her, but before he could stand up straight, Emma had rocked back as far as she dared on the chair and pushed herself forward, crashing her forehead down on his nose with a sickening crunch.

The motion had her wobbling in her seat as the darkness hovering at the edges of her vision threatened to overwhelm her. But she knew she didn't have long to move. Mikhailov's guard would be back soon and she needed to get out of that room before they returned.

She pushed herself up to her feet, wobbling again as her head span with the motion, before she began stumbling around the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon. When nothing jumped out at her she turned her attention back to Mikhailov, to see if the man himself had anything on him. She patted him down quickly, looking for a weapon, and when she came up empty, she cursed her bad luck.

The only thing in the room that she could possibly use to defend herself with was the chair she'd been sitting in. But it was far too big and clunky to be of any use to her as it was. After a brief moment of hesitation, and a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, she reached for the seat, raised it up above her head, and then brought it crashing back down onto the stone floor. It took three more attacks on the metal frame to have one of the legs snap clean off, and Emma snatched the smaller piece from the floor before heading for the door.

The first guard was waiting just around the corner from the room she was being held inside of. The element of surprise was on Emma's side, and one solid whack around the side of his head with the chair leg in her hands left him crumpling to the floor. Emma ditched the piece of scrap metal in favor of the guard's gun and then started running.

She wasn't sure how far she ran or how fast. The adrenaline racing through her veins was the only thing keeping her moving, and she knew that if she stopped, she would never make it out of the building alive. So Emma charged her way around the corridors, shooting in the direction of anything that moved and ducking and dodging bullets that came her way. She was pretty sure one of them grazed her upper arm, and another her outer thigh, but Emma simply gritted her teeth with her determination and pushed herself forward.

When she finally fell through a set of glass doors and out into the gradually brightening streets of Moscow, Emma heaved a sigh of relief that sent her head spinning once more.

She couldn't remember how she made it back to the car she'd stolen the night before. But when she woke almost sixteen hours later, the pain in her body had faded to a slightly more manageable ache.

* * *

The flight back home was every bit as awkward as Emma had imagined it to be. Security pulled her aside before she boarded her plane, worried she would be a threat to other passengers. Emma gave them a sob story about being mugged while she was sightseeing, and begged them to just let her return home in order to persuade them to allow her on the plane. Her tears seemed to work, as they quickly ushered her through the lines and upgraded her flight to first class.

While she'd done her best to patch herself up before arriving at the airport, she couldn't seem to stop her mouth from bleeding, and no amount of makeup in the world was ever going to hide the bruises and cuts to her face. So Emma didn't blame the passengers on either side of her for the way they shuffled as far away from her as their seats would allow.

When the plane finally touched down in Virginia she didn't even bother heading home to shower and change first. Instead, she hailed the first cab she saw and threw all of the cash she had left at the driver as she gave him the address for the bank she had worked at for the last decade.

Tiny gave her a somewhat worried look when she stepped onto the employee elevator at the back of the building but said nothing as he hit the button to take them down to one of the floors hidden below the building. When she stepped out of the elevator she was greeted by two members of the security team, who both offered her similar looks of cautious concern. Emma barely acknowledged their presence as she made her way confidently through the bullpen and up the metal staircase to the offices above it.

She didn't bother knocking on Gold's door. If the security team knew she was there, _he_ knew she was there. But when she pushed it open, Emma had to bite down on her bottom lip to stop the whimper of pain that was building inside of her, before she continued marching confidently across the floor and over to where he was sat behind his desk.

She knew that he was aware of her presence in his space. But he didn't bother raising his head from the papers he was scribbling on to look at her. It didn't matter much to Emma, though. She had the upper hand now, and she knew it.

"I'm back," she told him, as she threw the flash drive containing all of Mikhailov's plans down onto his desk. "And I'm taking the rest of the month off."

Gold's eyes moved from the drive on his desk up to Emma's face and then back down again. He didn't even seem phased by her broken and battered appearance.

"I'll see you next month, Miss Swan," was all he said, before turning his attention back to his work.

Emma span on her heels and strode back out of the office, this time, without the security detail following her. She made her way down the stairs and through the bullpen with the same air of confidence as she'd entered the space, and August couldn't help but feel a little proud of the strong and confident woman he'd had the luxury of watching her grow into.

* * *

It was almost two hours later when Emma finally made her way through the double doors of yet another building in Virginia. She took her time studying the lobby, making note of the elevators along one wall, behind a series of metal detectors, and those behind the large desk in front of her. There were armed guards stationed next to each of the different doors in the room, and all of them seemed to be watching her carefully, trying to assess if she were a threat to the safety of those around her.

"Can I help at all?" a kindly older woman asked, drawing Emma's attention back to the desk in front of her.

"Uh, yes," she whispered quietly. The pain in her face was beginning to build again, now that the adrenaline had worn off. And it was making the process of forming words difficult. "I need to speak to your director."

"The director's a little busy right now," the older woman replied, her smile still fixed in place as she did. "Can I take a message for you?"

Emma considered telling her no. She considered turning on her heels and leaving the building. But an image of Walsh's dead body flashed behind her eyes and she knew that she could never live with herself if she did.

"Tell him that he has a walk-in," she stated confidently, and watched as the other woman's smile faded.

"Excuse me for just a moment," she told Emma, before stepping back from the desk to whisper something into her headset. Emma didn't even bother trying to read the woman's lips to see what was being said about her. She already had a pretty good idea of what was going on, so she wasn't surprised when the older woman returned a moment later and gestured to the set of doors to her left. "If you'll follow me, please?"

Emma nodded her agreement and then fell into step behind the secretary. She was ushered into an elevator that traveled up to the third floor of the building before the woman guided her down a series of corridors and through to what appeared to be an empty conference room.

"If you'll just wait here for me for a moment, someone will be with you shortly," the older woman explained, before closing the door behind herself on her way out.

Emma took a few minutes just to circle the large oak table, taking in as much of the room as she could before she dropped down into one of the leather chairs that faced the door.

And then she waited.

* * *

He was almost finished with his reports on Iran when a knock rang through his small office, startling him out of his own mind.

"Yes," he called out, as the door was pushed open.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir, but there's a young woman in the conference room that needs your attention," Barbara explained, as she poked her head into his office.

"What's this about?" he asked, pushing his chair away from his desk.

"She says she's here as a walk-in, Sir. I've been instructed to ask you to take her statement."

He fought back a sigh at Barbara's words before reaching out to save his work and log-out of the system. "Thank you, Barbara. I'll head down there now."

"Thank you, Sir."

After grabbing the forms he'd need to fill out and a mug of coffee from the kitchen, he headed down the single flight of stairs that would take him to the conference room they always placed walk-ins into. This was the side of his job that he hated the most. Having to sit and interview the crazies who were convinced that they knew something the government didn't while pretending to care about what they said wasn't easy. And their conspiracy theories just seemed to get more and more ridiculous with every walk-in he was assigned.

But when he pushed open the door to the conference room that afternoon and a head full of bright red hair shot up to study his features, he knew that _this_ walk-in would be different.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	13. Chapter 12

Killian wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone write as much or as fast as Emma Swan had that evening.

When she'd sat down to tell him her story, at first he'd found it completely unbelievable. How could _anyone_ thinkthey were working for the CIA when in fact, they were working with the largest terrorist organization in the world? But the more Emma had spoken, the more Killian had started to realize that what she was saying answered a lot of questions they had about The Forest. And of course, the dates, locations, and names she happily provided him with matched the CIA's official records for crimes that had been committed on both domestic and foreign soil.

By the time she'd finished speaking, Killian wasn't sure if Emma Swan was someone he should admire or someone he should be terrified of. But he knew one thing for sure – he believed every single word she'd said.

So while she was putting everything she knew down on-page about her time with The Forest, Killian called his friend Will and asked him to sit with her while he headed up to see one of their supervisors. There was always a protocol to follow for walk-ins, but Killian had a feeling that this was someone the agency would want to put to use as soon as they possibly could. An asset like Emma, embedded deeply in such a large criminal empire and whose irrational behavior of the past few weeks could legitimately be excused by her loss, was like gold dust to those in charge of national security.

"Sir, may I have a quick word?" he asked, as he tapped his knuckles on the door of George Midas's office.

"Of course, Jones. What can I do for you?" Midas asked, lifting his head from his computer screen.

"I have a walk-in downstairs that I think you might find interesting. She claims to have been working for The Forest for the last decade, but under the belief that she was working with the CIA."

"And you believe her?" Midas asked, raising a brow in question.

"Honestly, Sir? Yes. She's… well, she looks like she's been tortured! And her story is incredibly accurate. She's given me dates and locations we already have on file, along with some names we've suspected but never really been able to confirm before."

"And what's her reason for defecting?" Midas fidgeted a little in his seat but Killian didn't miss the way his superior leaned forward into the conversation. Just like he'd suspected, Midas was more than a little interested in Emma's story.

"They killed her fiancé when she told him that she worked for the CIA."

"Fuck me," the other man mumbled, dragging a harsh hand down his face. He'd been working for the agency for almost three decades now, and The Forest had been the biggest threat that had ever come across any of their desks. But George had never expected to hear anything like that from one of their own. Of course the woman would now have her doubts, given what they'd taken from her.

"I believe her, Sir. I believe she genuinely had no idea who she was working for until the murder of her fiancé gave her a reason to begin questioning what was happening. And I truly believe that she wants to see the group _and_ Gold brought down, not just for the benefit of the nation, but also for her own satisfaction."

"What's her name?"

"Swan, Sir. Emma Swan."

Something passed behind Midas's eyes at the mention of Emma's name and Killian wasn't exactly sure how to interpret it.

"Bring me her statement as soon as she's finished with it," Midas demanded, turning his attention back to his computer. Killian knew that was his official dismissal, so he uttered a firm, "Of course, Sir," before turning on his heels to leave the office and head down to the small café on site.

He wasn't entirely sure what Emma would eat or drink, or if she could eat anything at all, given the state her mouth had been in when she'd arrived. But he knew what bone-deep exhaustion looked like, and it had been written into every line of her being when he'd first entered that conference room. So Killian hoped that a few home comforts would help to put her at ease, and maybe earn him some of her trust.

When he made it back to the conference room with mugs of coffee balanced in a tray on one hand, and a bag of baked goods and sandwiches swinging from his arm, he wasn't at all surprised to find Emma's head of red hair bent over yet another sheet of paper as she scribbled away furiously.

"How's it going?" he asked, looking at Will but directing the question to the room at large.

"We've been through three pens and just started on our second legal pad," Will explained, as he held up the first for Killian to see. His friend's eyes widened a little in surprise before he carefully approached the conference table and set a takeaway cup down just in front of the page Emma was currently writing across.

"Would you like some coffee, Emma?" Killian asked, digging his hands into his pockets to pull out a few sugar packets and some creamer.

Emma didn't even acknowledge his presence. Instead, she just continued to write. Whenever she came to the end of a page she would turn the paper aggressively to carry on along the top line of the very next sheet, but she rarely bothered to speak.

Killian took the notepad from his friend and handed over a coffee in its place before he flicked through the words written on it. He had a feeling that it wasn't Emma Swan's best handwriting display, but he was fairly impressed by how well she'd managed to control the flow of the words across the page. There were very few mistakes, given how much she'd written, and the words hadn't become any sloppier as she'd gone along.

Killian was able to pull some key phrases from the pages he'd scanned, such as the name of her partner and some of the biggest operations she'd been involved in. Even at a glance, he knew that Emma was providing them with information that would save hundreds (if not thousands) of innocent lives in the coming months.

When he'd finished scanning through her statement, Killian lifted his head to meet his friend's eyes and what he saw there told him that Will knew exactly how he was feeling. The guy had likely flicked through the pages just as Killian had, and he too believed what Emma Swan was saying.

"Do you need anything at all, Emma?" Killian tried again, after he'd finished his drink. Emma's still sat untouched in front of her notepad.

"Another pen," she mumbled, as she shook the one in her hand. "This one's dying on me."

Will tossed his own empty cup into the trash bin in the corner of the room before he slipped out to go and fetch Emma a box of ballpoint pens and a couple more legal pads from their storage closet. He had a feeling that with ten years' worth of time at The Forest to go through, she would need plenty more before she left their offices later that day.

* * *

As Emma continued to detail all of her time working for Robert Gold, George Midas lifted the handset of the secured phone in his office and tapped a familiar number into the keypad. It was a call he'd honestly hoped he'd never have to make, and one he knew wouldn't go down well.

The line rang three times before George ended the call, setting the handset back in its cradle. The experienced director then began counting in his head. When he got to twenty, the phone on his desk started to ring.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"It's me."

George took a moment just to steel himself before he uttered the two simple sentences that he'd rehearsed before placing his call. "She's here. She knows everything."

The silence over the line was almost as dangerous as he knew the other man to be.

"Location four. Twenty minutes," the voice snapped out, and then disconnected the call before George could say anything else.

* * *

 **Thanks for being so patient with me while I battle these health issues. Hopefully once this next surgery is out of the way, I'll be a little more reliable.**


	14. Chapter 13

Emma wasn't sure how long she spent in Agent Jones's office, waiting for him to return. But the longer she sat in that hard chair, the more the effects of the last few days seemed to take their toll. So in an attempt to distract herself and keep her body going, Emma pushed herself back to her feet and began examining every inch of the space.

There were cracks in the skirting board close to the door, likely from where someone had slammed it too hard. The paintwork was chipping and peeling in places, suggesting that it hadn't been touched for a few years, and the ceiling was full of tiny little holes. Either Jones or his predecessor had been a fan of throwing things at it – pencils, judging by the size of the marks. The carpet hadn't fared much better. While it looked like it had worn thin around the door and close to the desk, there were some small holes appearing in odd places too. _Someone should probably check that out,_ she thought idly, as she turned her attention to the more personal touches Jones had added to the room.

There were framed diplomas on the wall from ivy-league colleges, which wasn't at all surprising given his choice of profession. Between the diplomas and the awards, there was a picture of some kind of sports team that Emma didn't recognize, but she assumed he was a fan of. And on his desk was a framed image of Agent Jones himself, with his arm wrapped around a dark-haired woman. His girlfriend, most likely, as his hand rested a little too low on her hip for the woman to be a friend or family member, and Emma hadn't noticed a ring on his finger earlier in the day.

The sound of the office door opening snapped Emma out of her snooping, and she mentally berated herself for not listening hard enough to have predicted that action. She was a spy, she should have been aware of what was happening around her at all times. But the pain and exhaustion of the last few days had seen Emma's usual self-defense mechanisms fading.

Agent Jones said nothing as he made his way into the room, around the desk, and dropped down into his seat. He took a second just to straighten up the picture that Emma had been looking at before he turned his attention up to her.

"I'm sorry that took so long, Emma. You uh… you wrote a lot. I've never actually seen anyone sit and write that much before. Our team will need time to verify everything that's in your statement before we can do anything else. But between you and me, there's a lot of stuff you put in there that even I know about, so I think my superiors are gonna want your services. We've been looking to put another double inside of that organization for _years_ now, and we've been trying to dismantle it for as long as I can remember."

Emma considered Agent Jones's words for a moment before she sunk down into her seat with a huff.

"Are you okay? Are you in any pain?" he asked, misinterpreting the sound. "I can get you -"

"You're playing me."

"Excuse me?"

"You're playing me," she repeated. "You just said, 'We've been looking to put another double inside of that organization for years now,' which implies that you already have one. As you haven't yet verified my statement, I can only assume that you told me this because you think I'm looking to spy against you, and I'll report back to my superiors that there's already a leak in their organization. Or, maybe you think I'm looking to become a triple agent and I'm going for the ultimate double-cross here. Either way, you're trying to play me."

"I'm not trying to play you, Emma," he replied gently. "I'm uh… I've just never had to deal with a walk-in that's actually been an asset before. I probably said more to you than I should have. And you being… well, _you,_ picked up on that. But I didn't say it because I'm trying to play you. I said it because I truly believe you. And I trust you – even if you can't bring yourself to trust me yet."

Emma took a moment to scan Agent Jones's face. She still didn't trust the man. She hadn't known him long enough to be able to do that. And after everything that Gold had put her through, Emma wasn't sure she could ever trust anyone else again. But she also couldn't detect any hint of deception in his features. Either he was truly unskilled when it came to handling people like her, and had made a genuine mistake, or he was a better spy than she was.

"You're uh… you're free to go home now, Emma. Wash up and rest a little. Maybe see a dentist too," he added, and she couldn't help the small snort of laughter that followed his words. "We'll be in touch when we've verified your statement and made a plan to go forward. If you have to return to work before then, make sure you act as normally as you can while you're there. Although, something tells me that you won't struggle with that."

Emma gave him a small smile and Jones flushed a little at it. She was a truly beautiful woman, underneath the bruises, swelling, and dried blood. He hated that she'd gotten caught up in such a huge mess.

Jones cleared his throat and opened the top drawer on his desk. After reaching inside he pulled something out and slid it across the table as he closed the drawer again. "This is my number. Memorize it. If you need _anything_ , you can call me."

Emma's eyes flew across the information printed on the small piece of white card, taking in Jones's full name, title, email address, and contact numbers before she nodded her head confidently and then stood from her seat.

"Thank you for your help, Agent Jones."

"It was an honor to meet you, Emma."

He held out his hand for shaking and she grasped it firmly in her own, before releasing him and heading for the door. Emma couldn't wait to get home and sleep for the rest of the week.

* * *

In the days that followed her trip to the CIA, Emma took Jones's advice and visited a dentist to sort out the mess Mikhailov had made of her mouth, while getting as much rest as she could.

When she finally started to feel a little more like her old self, she took up jogging again to help improve her fitness levels. Whenever she was out she would smile at each of her neighbors when they said good morning, and pick up papers for those much older than herself that struggled to do so. To anyone watching, it would have looked like Emma was finally settling into her new home and learning to move on with her life. But behind closed doors, Emma felt completely dead inside. Everything she did reminded her of Walsh, and the longer she went without hearing from the CIA, the more she felt like she was failing him.

On the one month anniversary of his death, Emma became aware of the fact that her usual jogging route often took her past the cemetery. So after turning off her music and contemplating her options, she finally detoured inside.

Emma hadn't been back since the funeral. Coming to see him without being able to tell him that she was slowly avenging his death, felt wrong. And while she hadn't made any strides yet in taking Gold and his organization down, she had at least taken that first step.

But when she finally found her way over to the plot that Walsh's parents had buried him in, Emma was surprised to find someone already standing over his grave.

"Dad?"

David Nolan turned slowly to face his daughter, his hands tucked in the pockets of his long trench coat. Emma hadn't heard from him since the day he'd saved her life in the parking garage. And given how much he disliked Walsh, the last place she expected to run into her father was at her dead fiancé's graveside.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've been watching you for a few days now. I figured you'd come here eventually. You just needed some time to work up the courage to do so."

Emma took a small step closer but didn't say anything else. Her father hadn't answered her question yet.

"I asked if I could be the one to give you this," he finally stated, withdrawing one of his hands from his pockets and holding out a phone. "I really hope that you know what you're getting yourself into, Emma."

She took the device from him and turned it over in her hands. There was nothing unusual about it, which had her brow creasing with confusion.

"For what it's worth, your statement had Midas quite shaken," David continued. "I don't think I've ever seen him that way before."

Emma's eyes snapped up to meet her father's at the sound of the CIA director's name falling so easily from his lips. It didn't take her long to connect the dots and find her own answers.

"It's you! You're their other double."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


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